The Shrew War, Book VI: Doublegate
by Highwing
Summary: Where did Snoga go?
1. Chapter 84

Chapter Eighty-Four

Extract from the diary of Winokur Otter, assistant Recorder of Redwall Abbey:

_It is to be the Summer of the Red Tower!_

_Yes, I know, it's hardly a secret. I think half of Redwall must have figured it out on their own by now, but then how could they not, with the finished tower of Foxguard rearing so high above the forest to the east, dominating all of Mossflower? Still, it is nice to have confirmation from Geoff and Arlyn, the two beasts responsible for choosing this season's official name. Our esteemed once-and-current Abbot won't announce it until our Nameday feast two days hence, in keeping with longstanding Abbey tradition, but he let it slip to me just this morning over breakfast. Now I have to be twice as careful not to leave this journal of mine lying about where somebeast might sneak a peek at these words and have the surprise spoiled for them!_

_Yes, sad to say, it was up to Geoff and Arlyn to pick the season name this time around. The responsibility could not help but fall on their shoulders, since Vanessa is still in no shape to perform any of the duties an Abbess would be expected to assume. We all thought - and fervently hoped - that she would have returned to some semblance of her old self by now, but it hasn't worked out that way. It has certainly been long enough - close to half a season - but Vanessa still carries on like the most willful and undisciplined child Redwall has ever seen. Any attempts to explain to her that she's not a youngbeast and was in fact Abbess are met with either a blank-faced stare of incomprehension or a scoff of derision ... after which she invariably runs off laughing and carefree, in search of the "other" youngsters or whatever trouble she can get into - often both at once. She is utterly incapable of accepting the fact that she is an adult in body and in seasons. The situation isn't helped any by Droge and Budsock and that whole gang encouraging Vanessa in her delusions. They all think it's a grand hoot, seeing their Abbess acting like this, and once they got over their initial disconcertment at her state, they were only too willing to accept her as a playmate. After all this time I'm beginning to think they actually forget sometimes that she was ever Abbess. Of course, when Vanessa gets it into her head to take on the role of ringleader in their mischief, I suspect her former authority makes her accomplices fall right into line - after all, if the Abbess is saying they should do these things, it must be all right to do them, no? It is an awkward state of affairs, all the moreso when it comes time for classes. Vanessa attends them, of course, regarding herself as being of an age to do so and not wanting to be separated from all her newfound friends. And with Geoff spending so much time helping Arlyn run the Abbey, more of the work of conducting lessons is falling to me; indeed, there have been mornings when Geoff has left me alone to do all the teaching myself. So here I am, a novice otter, trying to command the attention and respect of the very mouse who made me a novice in the first place, often when she is in no mood to lend me either one. I mean, if she decides to disrupt the class (which has happened on more than one occasion) or persuades some of her classmates to join her in playing hooky (ditto, in spite of severe reprimands from Maura), what am I to do? I feel like a fraud trying to discipline the beast I once called Abbess, and it doesn't help that some of the other students can pick up on how uncomfortable such situations make me. Thank heavens for Cyrus! He can be as intimidated by the situation as I am, but two heads are always better than one when a united front is needed to quell disobedience, and on the days when Geoff has been called elsewhere, Cyrus has been a great help to me. I don't know whether our younger bellringer will someday graduate to being a full-fledged teacher - perhaps after Geoff has retired and I fully take his place as Abbey Recorder - but as a student teacher he is invaluable. He knows his Redwall history nearly as well as I do, and his youth makes it easier for him to relate to the students, since he was in their place himself just a season or two ago. Pity Cyril never displayed the same academic aptitude, but then I guess two student teachers would really be one more than we need._

_Mona still has no idea when or if Vanessa will recover. That vixen, for all her knowledge and experience as a healer, is as mystified by this whole thing as any of us. I can tell she's disappointed by her failure to make any progress with Vanessa; I really think she was expecting to have our affected Abbess partly or completely back to normal before the time came for her to move to Foxguard. If we are experiencing an overabundance of qualified teachers these days, then we are suffering the exact opposite in regard to healers. With what happened to Aurelia and Vanessa last season, and Mona leaving us soon (I suspect she might have departed already, if we hadn't convinced her to stick around for our Nameday festivities), we will soon be without a regular Infirmary keeper. That young badger Metellus has done a remarkable job learning many of the basic medical skills from Mona, demonstrating a singlemindedness and sense of purpose that is almost hard to credit in a beast of such tender seasons. But for all his dedication and enthusiasm, Metellus is still little more than a child - indeed, very much a child as badgers measure maturity - and cannot be expected to assume such responsibilities until he is quite a bit older. If he proves serious in these ambitions, there is talk of sending him to Foxguard so that he can continue to study under Mona. He has already learned a great deal from that vixen, so perhaps in the fullness of time he will indeed become Redwall's chief healer. In the meantime, Arlyn is the most knowledgeable Abbeydweller we have in such areas, so once Mona leaves us I suppose we shall just have to rely on him for awhile. We're all rather concerned with his age - assuming the mantles of both acting Abbot and interim Infirmary keeper will be quite a chore for a mouse who'd thought he was retired from formal duties - and there is some thinking that he ought to just name Geoff as Abbot so he can concentrate on the Infirmary and not spread himself too thin. I've a feeling he might end up doing just that, once Nameday is behind us._

_Ah, yes - Nameday! Even with the unfortunate events of our last seasonal celebration still fresh in our minds, I would hazard a guess that there is not a single creature at Redwall who is not looking forward to this feast with all the anticipation of the most overeager youngbeast. Perhaps some see it as a chance to bury those recent tragedies once and for all, with a Nameday that truly lives up to our longstanding traditions. I know for a fact that Friar Hugh intends to top every spread he's ever presented; I don't see how such a thing is possible, but I certainly welcome him to try! Of course, with Vanessa as a constant reminder that all is not as it should be around here, and Cyril still saddened by Broggen's passing, I can't help feeling that a certain pensiveness will hang over the festivities. It will certainly be interesting to see how things turn out._

_As I've already written, there was really only one choice for the naming of this summer. For all that has happened in and around Mossflower recently, Foxguard overshadows all else, literally and figuratively. Even from the Abbey lawns, it is the thing that draws the eye and commands the attention when one steps outside and glances east, rearing high above the walltop even from that low perspective. From the ramparts the view is all the more more spectacular - one might go so far as to say breathtaking. Never did any Redwaller imagine that there might someday rise a structure in Mossflower which would require a beast standing upon our battlements to look UP to see its apex. The idea that it lies clear on the other side of the River Moss only makes it all the more incredible. I have gazed upon that tower on many occasions, at many different times of day and in all kinds of weather, and it never fails to fill me with awe. Very often it does not look real; simply, nothing can be that BIG, and it does funny things to the eye and the mind of anybeast who beholds it. It is majestic, magnificent, grand and splendid. I suppose for many generations to come, that red tower, that impossible stone needle that seems to pierce the very sky itself, will come to be regarded as much a part of Mossflower as the green forest canopy and the Western Plains and the road outside our gates and perhaps even Redwall itself. Generations will be born who will never have known a time when Foxguard wasn't there, dominating the eastern horizon and standing over us like a slender red sentinel. But this is where those times begin, and so there is no way this could be anything but the Summer of the Red Tower._

_The first of those generations is almost upon us, in fact. Mizagelle, Givadon and Florissant are all carrying heavy, and it will be a very close race to see which arrives first, Nameday or the harebabes. Everybeast is quite excited by the prospect of so many births coming at once, none moreso than the Long Patrols themselves, and the new fathers in particular. One might have expected Browder to be in a bit of a tizzy over his impending fatherhood, but there's something undeniably amusing about seeing seasoned veterans like Baxley and Lieutenant Gallatin similarly at loose ends. At least Browder has made a full recovery from that drubbing Hanchett gave him; it would hardly do to have that player hare celebrating both Nameday and the birth of his first child while sporting black eyes, split lips, swollen cheeks and a torn ear. Unfortunately, Kurdyla is still mending from having his leg tendons severed, and must remain in bed most of the time. Some of our Abbey tinkerers did get together and build a large wheelchair so that our invalid otter can be taken out of the Infirmary on occasion. It requires the full strength of Maura and several of Skipper Montybank's crew to bear Kurdyla down the stairs to Great Hall, but once he's there and in his chair he has virtually the run of the Abbey. Foremole has constructed a temporary stone ramp sloping down to the lawns alongside the regular steps, so Cavern Hole and the cellars are really the only places off-limits to our crippled friend. We've even taken him up to the walltop on some of the nicer days; he is as awestruck by the sight of Foxguard as are any of us. At least he won't be stuck up in our sickbay on Nameday, and that's something._

_The weather has grown quite warm in recent days, with not a drop of rain in nearly a fortnight. If this keeps up, it might almost be too hot to hold our feast outdoors, although we almost certainly will anyway. If the sun is too strong, there's plenty of room in the orchard to set up our tables under the shady branches. I think only the arrival of an ill-timed thunderstorm could chase us back into Great Hall. There are more than a few beasts around here, I suspect, who might secretly welcome such a break in this heat wave ... or not so secretly, in the case of our expectant harewives. Being fully pregnant when it's so hot out is no picnic, apparently - not that I'll ever be in any position to find that out for myself firstpaw!_

_I suppose Grayfoot and Judelka's son Pearce would have to be included as well among that first generation who would never know a Mossflower without Foxguard, even if those ferrets are technically not Redwallers. Grayfoot's Tavern is nearly complete save for the furnishings and a few other finishing touches, and most of the moles and otters dispatched to help build that inn have returned to the Abbey. We expect the rest to arrive later today or tomorrow, along with Sergeant Traughber and Captain Grayfoot himself; there's not a Redwaller alive who'd miss a Nameday if they can help it, and unless our ferret barkeep wants to be left all alone in his new establishment, he'll be coming with them. Vanessa had, before that unfortunate incident at Foxguard robbed her of her sensibilities, promised Grayfoot enough sheets, blankets and pillows for his family and guest rooms at his tavern, and Arlyn is not about to go back on that agreement. And Balla has indicated a willingness to return to the tavern with Grayfoot and his family after Nameday, to help get him started on brewing and distilling his own cellar stocks. So, in a sense, I suppose those ferrets WILL be Redwallers after all, since they and their guests will be sleeping on Abbey bedding and their ale and spirits will be based upon Balla's recipes._

_As for Percy himself, that ferretbabe is growing like a weed! Just the other day he took his very first steps, and as wobbly as they were, it was like seeing a little corner of the world being born anew. Such a shame Grayfoot wasn't here to see his son's first steps, but at least he's not likely to miss the adorable tyke's first words too. Pearce hasn't started speaking yet, but that hasn't stopped nearly every female beast at Redwall from speaking to him, usually in tones of exaggerated affection that I personally find quite embarrassing. Although, even I am forced to admit that they're awfully cute at that age, but then, aren't we all? Certainly, many among us will be sad to see him go when the time finally comes for Grayfoot to permanently move his family to the tavern. We all just hope that this tiny smidgen of Redwall upbringing we've been able to give him will rub off on Percy and stay with him for the rest of his seasons, because he's not likely to receive the same from just his parents. Oh, well - perhaps he'll be able to visit the Abbey once in awhile to play with children his own age, or perhaps some of ours can make a few day trips down to his neck of the woods. Our three harebabes will be less than a season younger than he is. Wonder what kind of playmates hares and a ferret will make for each other?_

_I got to see my own newest friend not too long ago. Tolar thought it only proper to dispatch a courtesy message to us when the tower of Foxguard was completed, and since Tolar himself was too busy as the new Sword to get away from his responsibilities there, he sent Sappakit and Roxroy to deliver this news. We have of course been keeping in touch with those swordfoxes and their comrades through our Sparra, but there's nothing like seeing a beast of whom you've grown fond face-to-face, being able to hear their voice and see their face and shake paws and slap backs. Roxroy's own paw was still in a cast to make sure the bones set properly, but that didn't stop him from engaging in a little left-pawed sparring with me during the two days he spent here. I went easy on him, of course, but I must say he acquitted himself very well all the same. His masters clearly have not allowed his injury to stand in the way of continued training; I doubt I could have done as well with my favored paw out of commission. Neither Roxroy nor Sappakit knew whether any of the Foxguarders (hey, its as reasonable a name as any!) would be able to make it to our Nameday celebration as they did last season. Arlyn re-extended the invitation to them yesterday through Highwing, but our Sparra leader could not secure a definite answer from them one way or the other. Even though the tower has been finished for some time now, they still have the rest of the fortress to build, and then the outer wall around it. I think that incident with Snoga did indeed set their schedule back, and if they were not able to have the fortress itself completed by the first of summer as they'd hoped, then they would like to have it finished as soon after that date as they possibly can. Knowing how seriously those foxes take anything relating to their military duties, it is hardly surprising that they would insist on being punctual in this matter. It's too bad that, when Foxguard eventually is completed, eighteen of its namesake beasts who helped build it will not be able to enjoy the home in which they would have lived ... including the successor to Machus, their first Sword._

_And what of Snoga and his preposterously-named True Guosim? That is the question on everybeast's mind. We know from Cyril and Sergeant Traughber that Hanchett took off after those criminals, no doubt with the intention of tracking them and most probably doing them further harm. It must be remembered that Hanchett took Vanessa for slain in the ambush at Foxguard, and is likely still laboring under this false assumption, so his zealotry in pursuing Snoga is understandable in that light. (Although, in a sense, perhaps he is right. The Vanessa we all knew as a wise Abbess and dependable voice of reason did not come back from Foxguard, and unless some cure is brought about in her addled mind, the mouse she was may be gone forever.) We can only guess what might have befallen these beasts, for of Hanchett and Snoga there has been not a word. It is assumed they are somewhere in south Mossflower, far below Redwall and Grayfoot's Tavern and perhaps even Lorr's Bridge, far enough from this Abbey that word of what happens in those parts seldom reaches our ears._

_Even so, their seemingly total disappearance remains a puzzlement. Twice in the past half-season, Lord Urthblood's falcon captain Klystra has come to us, not bearing news but seeking it. Not even that badger's eyes in the sky have had any luck in turning up Snoga or Hanchett. It was clear from Klystra's demeanor that he was hoping our wayward hare might have doubled back and returned to the Abbey. Remarkably, once Urthblood had heard his falcon's account of what had happened at Foxguard, he did not mount a military expedition to hunt down the remnants of Snoga's forces, apparently satisfied that the losses they'd suffered would remove them as a threat to the lands, and content to let Klystra keep tabs on them. Which would all have been well and good, if that bird had been able to find them again. Perhaps they all blundered into a vast bog and now sleep beneath the muck - one can always hope. I just hope Hanchett had the wherewithal not to follow them to such a desolate grave. That grim young hare has been a worry to us ever since he came to live at Redwall, but now we worry for him in a different way. In spite of all that happened with Browder and Kurdyla, there's not an Abbeybeast here who wouldn't heave a sigh of relief to see Hanchett walking back through our gates once more, safe and sound. Well, maybe one or two. But I daresay Arlyn might even pardon that hare for his transgressions and allow him to dwell at Redwall again. As long as he promised not to thrash anymore of his fellow woodlanders ..._

_For now, however, we can only guess, and ponder, and speculate. It is true that much of south Mossflower is an untamed wilderness area, with pathless forests as dense as anything in the Northlands and an entire network of rivers and streams fit to confuse even the most experienced boater. A beast can truly lose itself in those reaches ... or even a small army of beasts, apparently. Perhaps Urthblood was wise to just let Snoga go, if not even his birds can find him. That badger does have the benefit of prophetic sight, after all ... although I've heard it is not infallible. And given his current state of war with Tratton, he must have more important matters on his mind._

_And here I've just spent another entire afternoon scribbling away in this journal! My paws are a mess, and starting to cramp a little, and I'm almost out of ink anyway. And hark, unless my ears deceive me, there are the Matthias and Methuselah bells calling everybeast to supper! So I will end this here, give one last look toward the imposing grandeur of Foxguard before I head down from the walltop, and try my best to avoid any of those pranks set by Droge, Budsock and their newest partner in mischief Vanessa. That's one good thing about being an "assistant Recorder" - I can laze away most of a day scratching at this book, and have it pass as work! If my secret is ever discovered, Redwall will have scores of Recorders and nobeast to do all the real jobs!_

_Mmm! Dinner smells wonderful! Down I go!_

00000000000

The morning sun was still not as high in the sky as the top of Foxguard when Grayfoot, Sergeant Traughber and the last few of the Redwall helpers showed up at the Abbey gates. The retired ferret captain and his companions had left the tavern before sunrise, since it looked to be yet another in this unbroken string of hot and sultry forest days, and they wanted to reach the Abbey well before noon if they could. Also, they were not certain which day Arlyn had chosen for the naming of the season, and if this chanced to be that day, they wanted to be sure to arrive in time for the celebration's start.

The otters Brydon and Rumter were on lookout duty atop the west wall that morning, and hurried down to open the gates when they spotted the small party approaching. The first thing the travellers did upon stepping through the open doors was to sweep the Abbey grounds with their gazes. They all breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing no signs of a feast about to commence.

"Guess we didn't miss Nameday, huh?" Grayfoot queried.

"Naw, it's tomorrow," Rumter assured the new arrivals. "Abbot was gonna send a Sparra later on t'day t' let you know, but now I guess he won't hafta, will he?"

"Reckon not, tho' I s'pose we'd better let 'im know we're here so he don't send any birds out unnecessarily." Grayfoot glanced toward the gatehouse cottage that served as Arlyn's retirement home. "He in there?"

"Um, no, now that he's hadta take over from Vanessa, the Abbot spends most of his time up in her study, which used t' be his study back when. Tho', with this heat wave we're havin', he's as like t' be down in Cavern Hole coolin' off, or even in Balla's cellars. So y' might hafta snoop around a bit t' find him. But I'm sure he'll turn up somewhere!"

"Yeah, it does look like summer came early this time 'round, huh? Or is this typical fer Mossflower?"

"Not hardly!" Brydon told the Northland ferret. "Fact is, we were all debatin' right up 'til yesterday whether we'd be able t' have our Nameday festival outdoors at all. But it's too much of a tradition not to, when y' get right down to it, so I guess we'll just put all th' tables out under th' trees in the orchard an' hope it don't rain!"

"Don't see why it would tomorrow, when it's held off for so many bally days so far," Traughber commented. "Fields're gettin' a tad parched down our way. Beginnin' t' wonder whether we'll ever see water from these skies again ... "

"We'd better," Rumter responded, "elsewise it's gonna be a long an' thirsty summer 'round here!

While the hare sergeant hastened away to report in to Colonel Clewiston, Grayfoot took his leave of the welcoming otters and set out to find Abbot Arlyn. Everybeast he passed greeted him with a smile and a friendly word or a nod or a tug of the snout. Maybe it was just the prevailing Nameday spirit, but it really made the ferret feel like he'd come home. It was not a feeling he could ever remember having felt before.

Before anything else, he stopped down in Cavern Hole. The Abbot wasn't there, but that didn't stop Grayfoot from taking a seat and quenching his roadparched throat with a tall mug of October ale. He had, after all, just made a half-day's march in half that time, under the unblinking sun of an unusually warm morning. And since it would still be some time before lunch was served, he felt entitled.

Finishing his drink quickly, he thanked Balla for her service and excused himself from the others who were in Cavern Hole seeking some escape from the day's heat, and made his way up to the Abbey's second floor. Aside from seeking out Arlyn, Grayfoot had a couple of other beasts he was very eager to visit.

Once Cyril and Traughber had arrived at the Abbey and told everybeast that Grayfoot and his construction crew were aware of what had happened at Foxguard, the hare sergeant was dispatched back to the tavern to clarify the situation. Traughber assured them there was nothing they would be able to do to help the situation even if they returned to Redwall, so they might as well just keep on with building the tavern, and word would be sent if anything changed. So Grayfoot and his team labored on as the spring days grew increasingly summery, until at last the inn was all but finished and it was time to put aside their tools and journey north to share in the celebration of the new season's arrival.

Foxguard was quite visible from Grayfoot's Tavern, of course. That tower's sheer height would lend it dominance to these woodlands for miles around. Many times during the building of the inn, Grayfoot and the others would pause just to stand and stare in marvel at the incomprehensible edifice that daily rose higher and higher to their northeast. And when it was at last finished, its vertiginous heights fluted out at the summit with the observation deck, the mere sight was almost dizzying, even from this distance. As Traughber had commented, "I'd hate t' be th' bally beast who hasta climb to th' top of that skyscrapin' horror fer lookout duty!"

During their return trek to Redwall that morning, hardly a moment passed when Foxguard wasn't a mere glance away; only in a few places where the full fastness of Mossflower encroached upon the eastern edge of the path did the trees shield the tower from view. Its very presence made it seem like an uninvited partner on their short march, watching over their every step, and the feeling was not an entirely comforting one. They could only imagine how it would appear from Redwall.

"Gee," one of the otters had joshed Grayfoot with a wink and a nudge, "an' all you got was a tumbledown tavern!"

"Ha ha," he'd responded dryly. "Well, I guess we don't hafta wonder what th' Abbot's gonna name this summer, eh?"

Now as Grayfoot mounted the last steps up to the second floor of the Abbey, he was met by the sight of a young female mouse in fine but unextravagant woodlander garb, walking a tiny ferretbabe by the paw down the corridor toward him. It took the retired captain a moment to realize there could be but one ferretbabe at Redwall, and a smile of joy lit up his masked face. "Percy! They gotcher walkin' already, huh?" Grayfoot rushed forward, bending down onto one knee as he greeted his son.

At first the child shied away from this large and unfamiliar beast who so directly embraced him. "Aw, y' don't recognize yer pappy, do ya? Well, don'tcha fret none, 'cos I'm here now, an' I'll not be leavin' you again!"

Percy, used to receiving great amounts of adoration and attention from Redwall's other children and females (and even some of the adult malebeasts), was quickly soothed by his estranged father's gentle smile and affectionate tone, and in no time he was grinning and giggling along with Grayfoot. The babe had good reason for his initial confusion; the only other creature he'd ever seen who looked like this was his mother, who at the best of times was aloof and distant from her own babe. He was still too young to realize that he himself was a ferret, or to comprehend the idea of how he might appear to others. He knew Judelka was somebeast special in his life, by her taste and her smell and her touch, but her maternal shortcomings left him looking to his woodlander caregivers for deeper and more meaningful emotional attachments. But now here was a malebeast who shared the same shape and coloration as his cool and remote mother but was acting the way a hare or an otter might. Percy didn't know what it all meant, but he would be sure to make the best of it!

"So, you're his Daddy, huh?"

Grayfoot looked to the young mousemaid who'd been escorting Percy down the corridor. "Yes, I ... Abbess?"

Vanessa rolled her eyes and blew out an exasperated sigh. "Why does everybeast keep calling me that? What's wrong with all of you?"

"Um ... er ... " Grayfoot wasn't sure what to say. He'd been told all about Vanessa's condition, but to see it with his own eyes was something else entirely. She genuinely did come across as a completely different - and much younger - mouse. Finally he settled for, "Wouldja happen t' know where this tyke's mater is? Wanna say hi to her ... "

Vanessa jerked a pawthumb over her shoulder. "Her room's back that way, to the right just past the Infirmary, I think. She's crazy, you know."

Grayfoot couldn't keep a scowl from coming to his face. "She ain't the only one ... "

"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?" Vanessa demanded.

"Or, er, nuthin'. Come along, Percy, let's go see yer mammy ... " Grayfoot stood and started to lead his son along the hallway, then realized Vanessa had not yet relinquished her grip on the ferretbabe's other paw. "Um, d' ya mind there, missy?"

"But I was just taking him down for a paddle in the pond!" she protested with a trace of petulance. "That's become one of his favorite things in this hot weather, now that he can walk."

"Well, then mebbe his mum 'n' me'll bring him down fer that after we all get reacquainter'd. We're 'is family, after all."

"With a family like that, it's a good thing he's got all us Redwallers looking after him. A father who only shows up for Nameday, and a mother who doesn't seem to know where she is half the time ... "

Grayfoot narrowed his eyes at Vanessa. "Think I liked you a lot better when you wasn't touched in th' head - or so rude."

"When did you know me?"

"Mebbe someday I'll tell ya." Grayfoot finally succeeded in liberating his son from the affected mousemaid's paw and pulled Percy down the hall after him on their way to see Judelka.

Vanessa gazed after them for a few moments, then shrugged and continued on her way, in search of playmates or mischief or, ideally, both. By the time she got down to Great Hall, her meeting with Grayfoot had been all but forgotten.


	2. Chapter 85

Chapter Eighty-Five

"Heya, sis! Mind if I join ya?"

Mizagelle glanced up from where she sat at the pond's edge with Browder, legs stretched out before her to cool her footpaws in the water. "Oh, hi, Givvy. Sure, why not? No better place for a pair of heavy hares like us on a scorcher like today, wot?"

"Always feels hotter when you're carryin' an extra little beastie 'round inside of you. I swear by my swollen ankles, this babe in here's gonna come out as big as a badger! Can't remember ever feelin' this flushed in all my life!" Slowly and ponderously, Givadon lowered herself onto her tail, then scooted her big-bellied form forward on the grass until she too could dip her feet in the cool water. Inhaling a deep breath of the bakery-fragrant air, she sighed, "Ah, nothing like the aroma of Redwall on th' day before Nameday! Exceptin' for mebbe Nameday itself ... "

"I know wotcha mean, Giv. I'd be perfectly happy t' graze on lettuce salad an' crunch raw carrots 'tween now an' tomorrow. 'Course, I don't think junior in here - " Mizagelle patted her protruding abdomen, " - would like that much. Never thought I'd mind eatin' for two, but this tyke's had my bally jawbone workin' overtime all season! Uh, speakin' of which, don't suppose y' came from th' kitchens just now? An' if so, wouldja happen t' have a spare scone or fritter anywhere on you?"

"'Fraid not, Mizzy," Givadon laughed. "You'll just hafta wait for lunch like the rest of us ... an' it won't be a long wait t'all, judgin' by jolly old Mr. Sun up there. Just about directly overhead, by my squinty eye ... " She turned her gaze to the shimmering pond before her. "All I know is, this whole impendin' motherhood business has got me out of fightin' shape for the first time since I was a young leveret. I wouldn't be able t' battle a mousebabe, the state I'm in now!"

"You said it. I think I've got a whole blinkin' summer of backbreakin' exercise regimen ahead of me t' get back in bally form. Tho', bein' a bowbeast, it might not be so bad for me."

"Yeah," Givadon agreed, "an' at least you 'n' me're both still pretty young things. Gonna be a lot tougher for Mum ... "

Mizagelle gave her sister a puzzled glance. "Wot're you talkin' 'bout, Giv? Mum's in better shape than the two of us put t'gether, at the moment. Still got a good many fightin' seasons left in her, don't you doubt that for a bloomin' moment."

"Oh, she's a right corker for her age, no denyin'," said Givadon. "But just wait 'til late summer, after she's been through wot we're goin' through now. Bet she won't look quite so spry then, wot?"

"Huh? Wot're you jabberin' on about, sis?"

"Don't tell me you haven't figured it out on your own yet, Mizzy? The way Mum's been gettin' queasy 'round breakfast time these past few days ... "

"So? She's had a touch of a summer stomach bug. Hope she's back in sorts for the feast tomorrow."

"Stomach bug, eh? Then why's she always recovered enuff t' put away scoff for a dozen hares come lunchtime, an' twice that for supper?"

"Um ... she got better?"

"Three days running? Sick in the morn, then ravenous later in th' day? C'mon, sis, open your eyes! You oughtta recognize wot's goin' on with her, since it's the same thing you 'n' me went through earlier this season."

Mizagelle's eyes went wide. "Mum's preggers?" she blurted out loudly enough to draw stares from several passing Abbeybeasts.

"Yup."

"No! No! I mean ... no!"

"No ignorin' it, Miz. Looks like there was still some life left in that old warrior after all ... an' the Colonel too."

"But ... but ... they're _OLD!_"

"Well, the Colonel's not _old_ old. Always easier for a malebeast to sire a child later in life, don'tcha know. An' as for Mum, well, she was pretty young when she had us, so it's not like she's ancient. It just seems weird 'cos she's ... well, our Mum."

"You can say that again!" Mizagelle shook her head. "I mean, it was one thing when she an' the Colonel got married. I thought it was more ceremonial than any bally thing. Strange 'nuff gettin' used to the idea of havin' Clewiston for a stepdad, but now ... the two of 'em, givin' us a half-brother or sister, that's just ... well, that's just goin' over th' flippin' line!"

Givadon leaned over and lifted the sides of Mizagelle's mouth with her paws. "Smile, Mizzy. Ye're s'posed t' be happy, y' know. Joyous occasion an' all that, wot?"

"Yeah, I know, I know. I'm just so flabbergasted, you could knock me over with a bally feather. Or at least you could, if I weren't so rolly polly at present. Don't know where my head's been at, that I didn't pick up on this on my own."

Now it was Givadon's turn to pat Mizagelle's ripe belly. "You've had your mind on other things, understandably enuff."

"Well, so did you, but you noticed." Mizagelle sighed. "Suddenly, I feel old."

"Don't fret 'bout that, sis. Just remember, no matter how many seasons pass, I'll always be older than you are."

Mizagelle brightened considerably at this. "I feel better already! Thanks, Givvy, y' old bag!"

Givadon's swinging paw clipped Mizagelle's ears as the younger hare ducked out of the way.

00000000000

Skytop was the first of the three student Sparra chicks to fly ... and once he discovered this ability, he wasted no time in exploring his newfound talent.

While his nestmates Brybag and Harpreet raced to and fro across the springy summer lawns below, Skytop would launch himself from walltop to tree to bell tower to gatehouse cottage roof and back again, never tiring of the new freedom his adolescent plumage gave him. Maura and Highwing had extracted a promise from the fledgling sparrow that he would not fly beyond the Abbey grounds. As long as Skytop flew with care and did not stray past the outer wall, his guardians were content to let him exercise his aviation abilities to his heart's content - however terrifying those exploits might have been to behold, especially for Maura. Apparently winged creatures had a different definition of what constituted caution than ground beasts did.

The Badger Mother winced as Skytop took a feathery tumble through the upper branches of a pear tree. "Well, this certainly takes me back. I feel like I'm watching you learn to fly all over again."

Highwing, standing alongside her on the grass, scoffed mildly. "Oh, I was never _that_ bad ... "

"No," she quickly agreed, "you were worse! With that crooked wing of yours, and Vanessa and Monty doing nothing to discourage you from your daredevil antics ... not to mention that Grym and most of the other Sparra living in Warbeak Loft at the time wanted you dead, but that didn't stop you from flying up to the high eaves and taunting them every chance you could! When I look back on those days, I'm amazed you made it to adulthood at all."

"But I did, and a good thing for all of us, too," said the sparrow leader. "Otherwise Grym and his bullies would have stayed in control of Warbeak Loft, and the goodbeasts and Sparra of Redwall might still be estranged to this day." Amongst the roots of the pear tree, Skytop came to a hard landing that made even Highwing flinch. But the young bird was back up on his talons in a heartbeat, racing across the lawns toward the nearest wall stairs.

"Why don't you just fly back up to the walltop, you silly thing?" Maura inquired as he ran by, knowing he was fully capable of such a feat.

"More fun this way!" Skytop laughed. "Go up to ramparts, then jump off and fly!"

"If that's what you call it," Maura muttered, but Skytop was already well past her, his cohorts Brybag and Harpreet racing along at his side cackling chirps of gleeful encouragement and fluttering their own untried wings with utter abandon. The badger matriarch shook her head as the novice flier mounted the steps for the umpteenth time that afternoon. "If he keeps this up, we could have one less sparrow child at our Nameday feast tomorrow."

"What amazes me," said Highwing as he watched Skytop sprint up the wall stairs with impossible speed, "is how he can do that after all those honeyglazed acorns and chestnuts he put away during lunch. I would swear he was doing his best imitation of a hare! If I tried to scoff that many nuts in one sitting, I think I'd be too weighted down to fly for the rest of the day!"

"Youth has a way of turning heavy bellies into light ones," Maura observed. "And it looks to me like all of those candied nuts are well on their way to being converted into pure youthful energy. At the rate he's going, I wouldn't be surprised if he comes down for a refill before suppertime rolls around."

Up on the battlements, Skytop spread his wings for what looked like his latest glide down onto the Abbey grounds, the other two Sparra chicks prancing and cavorting at the base of the wall in jealous anticipation (why oh why couldn't that be ME up there?), but then something outside the wall to the east seemed to capture his attention with a rapid twist of his head. Of course the lawnbound watchers could not see over the high barrier and so they had no idea what he might be looking at. Thus, their startlement was utter and complete when Skytop turned around on his crenellated sandstone perch and launched himself not down toward the manicured area within the protective walls but outward, into the wilds of Mossflower.

"That scamp!" Maura exhaled in exasperation. "That impertinent rascal! The one thing he knew he wasn't allowed to do!" She trundled off toward the east wallgate, grinding her jaw. "Well, we'd better go retrieve him, and make sure he hasn't come to any harm. You might want to fly out there yourself. This tired old stripedog's going to have to take the long way around."

"Of course, Maura." The Sparra leader spread his own wings and took off in a flapping ascent to clear the outer wall. Even as Highwing was still gaining altitude, the squirrels Elmwood and Granholm who had that afternoon's lookout watch began shouting down to Maura and any other Abbeybeasts who happened to be about, waving their arms excitedly.

"Foxes! Foxes on the way!"

Maura paused at the gate, staring up at the sentries. "Well, are they our friends from Foxguard?"

Elmwood glanced over his shoulder toward the forest. "Um, that they are, marm."

"Then what's all the fuss? You act as if they haven't been by to visit us twice already in the past season. Getting so excited over a couple of foxes ... " Maura muttered that last part as she unlocked the gate and threw it open. The big badger had to duck her head a bit as she passed under the wall, the entryway having been designed with mice, squirrels and other smaller creatures in mind.

Maura stepped out from the doorway and straightened to her full height ... and found herself face-to-face with over twoscore black-clad swordfoxes.

Tolar and Roxroy stood smiling at the fore of the procession. Upon the latter's shoulders perched Skytop like a triumphant champion being hoisted aloft by his cheerers. From his happy chirps and trills it was quite clear that the young Sparra was having the time of his life.

"Hello there, Maura," Tolar said in a friendly and natural tone. "I trust we're in time for Nameday?"

00000000000

"Well, I'll say this for you," Arlyn told Tolar over his mug of damson cider. "You certainly do like to appear at our gates unannounced. Almost getting to be a regular habit, hm?"

"Is this a problem?" the fox Sword probed as he sipped at his own cup of October ale.

"Oh, not really," the Abbot replied, waving his free paw and smacking his lips. "Our gates are always open to friends, allies, and all beasts of good will. You're welcome to visit anytime you wish. We just like to extend the best of our hospitality to our guests that we can, and when so many of you show up at once without advance notice as you did today, well ... "

"We're only here in response to the Nameday invitation you extended to us," said Tolar. "I appreciate that you must all be very busy with those preparations, and we don't mean to put you out in any way. We'd be just as content to sleep out on your lawns and nibble on our own provisions until the celebration commences. Or put us to work, if you need the extra paws to feed our extra mouths ... "

While most of the Redwallers took their supper up in Great Hall, Arlyn and a few of the other Abbey leaders chose to entertain Tolar's fox brigade down in Cavern Hole, where they could talk with fewer distractions. There was also the question of having so many of the swordsbeasts in the Abbey at one time - more than twice the number Machus had had in his squad when they'd stayed at Redwall the previous summer, and certainly the most foxes who had ever been within these walls at once in the Abbey's long history. Not every woodlander here would be as carefree and nonchalant about their presence as Skytop was. Arlyn had felt some degree of separation was called for, at least on this first evening, for his community's peace of mind. There would be plenty of opportunity for mingling on the morrow during the feast, when it was traditional for the various revelers to circulate as the unending meal played out; for tonight, a little segregation would not be seen as any great violation of Redwall's hospitality. Certainly none of the foxes questioned the arrangement. Even Tolar, sharp as he was, would have been forced to acknowledge that the size of his company might logically call for seating in a separate chamber of their own so that Great Hall did not become overcrowded.

Even so, it was elbow-to-elbow around the long table in Cavern Hole. In addition to Arlyn, Colonel Clewiston, Alex, Mina and Geoff had decided to sit in on this meeting, informal as it was. Winokur also squirmed his way into the proceedings, given his close friendship with Roxroy (which became literally close at the packed table), and a place was made for Mona as well, since she would naturally feel at home with her fellow foxes. In fact, Tolar insisted the healer vixen sit at his side, maintaining her skills would make her as much the leader of Foxguard as he was.

"I admit, I am a little surprised that you brought the whole of your brigade along this time," said Arlyn. "This is the first time since we found out you'd reopened the quarry that more than two of you have visited us ... "

"Foxguard is very nearly complete, except for the outer wall," Tolar explained. "By the time we return, our moles and otters should have the main fortress just about finished and livable. Since we never helped with the construction more than marginally, I figured we could all just get out of their way and leave them to what they do best. So, here we are."

"Pity none of your builders could have joined you," Alex commented. "As hard as they've been working, they deserve a holiday more than anybeast."

"Unfortunately, their work is still far from completed. Erecting the perimeter wall will, in its own way, be as great an architectural challenge as the tower itself. Certainly it will not be finished until well into summer, perhaps not until season's end. It may work out that they will have their responsibilities concluded in time for your autumn Nameday, but they will have to miss this one, I'm afraid."

"You trust them to carry on with their tasks without your direct supervision?" Mina asked.

"Of course, M' Lady. They are beasts in the service of Lord Urthblood, after all, and as dedicated in this task as they would be in battle. And, as I said, they are the ones with the technical knowledge and brawn to get this job done. I wouldn't say we were only getting in the way, but there sure were times when it felt like it!"

"Will Mona be returning with you to Foxguard after Nameday?" Arlyn inquired of the swordfox chieftain.

"That is my hope, Abbot. Although, if you feel she is still needed here ... "

"I will be frank, Tolar. Once Mona leaves, Redwall will be without any truly qualified healerbeast. Unfortunately, I can't see that situation changing anytime soon, so even if she were to stay with us until midsummer, or the entire season, her eventual departure will leave us in something of a fix no matter when it happens."

"You'll not be entirely without a healer," Mona pointed out. "Metellus is making great progress with his training ... "

"He is but a child, for all the dedication and promise he shows." Arlyn shook his head. "Even if he sticks with it after your tutelage of him ends, Mona, Metellus is still seasons away from possessing the full depth of knowledge needed to become Infirmary keeper. He might hold that post somewhere down the road, but for now he can only be considered an apprentice ... which will still leave us shortpawed."

"I had genuinely hoped to find the Abbess making some improvement," Tolar lamented. "It is ... odd ... to see her in her present state."

"Tell us about it," muttered Alex.

"Sometimes you don't realize how vital a creature is until you lose it - or its skills." Tolar looked to the vixen beside him. "What say you, Mona? Would you be willing to stay on at Redwall until these good folk feel they can safely spare you?"

"My place is at Foxguard, and I had every intention of moving there as soon as it was ready for me to do so," she replied. "But if you feel I can be of greater service here, and you think you can continue to make do without me ... "

"It is your decision to make," Tolar told her. "I would urge you to listen to your own conscience. Keep in mind, a number of us here have battlefield training from Machus and Lord Urthblood himself, and are more than qualified to cope with most ills and injuries likely to befall us at Foxguard. This Abbey has many children and elderbeasts, and there is more of a chance you will be needed here."

"Perhaps," Mona said. "Although I suspect Abbot Arlyn possesses enough healing and herb lore to treat all but the most dire emergencies. And I would only be living just across the river from Redwall, able to be summoned by wing on very short notice if I should be needed here."

"Sometimes the direst injuries are the ones that cannot wait," Mina pointed out. "If Machus hadn't been here last summer to treat Cyrus from almost the moment he was wounded, that mouse would not be with us today."

"That is very true," agreed Arlyn. "And while I would hope it will be many seasons before any other Redwaller is so grievously injured as Cyrus was on that dark day, the incidents with both Aurelia and Vanessa this past season prove that such tragedies can strike totally without warning." He turned to Mona. "Well, you don't need to make up your mind right this instant. Think it over during the next two days - I assume, Tolar, that you will not be returning to Foxguard until the day after tomorrow, at the earliest?"

The Sword nodded. "Having experienced one of your Nameday celebrations already, I think I can safely say we will be far too stuffed to even think about a return march tomorrow evening!"

"Do you think Foxguard will be safe in your absence?" Mina asked. "What if Snoga or some of his followers show up looking for more trouble?"

Alex gave a laugh. "That tower's height alone is enough to intimidate anybeast with mischief on its mind. Even from here, it almost defies belief. I think if I were standing anywhere near it, I'd fall back onto my tail if I tried to look up at it!"

"It was designed to give our sentries a commanding view over all of Mossflower," said Tolar, "but if it also ends up discouraging creatures who might otherwise move against us, all the better. And as for your question, M'Lady, now that the complete structure of the main fortress is in place, there is very little that Snoga or any such foebeast could do to threaten it. Our moles and otters would simply retreat inside, where they have enough stocks of food and drink to outlast any siege. They could also do some sniping with slings and javelins from the windows. I'd not go so far as to say Foxguard is impregnable in its present state - although it very nearly will be, once the outer wall is up - but it would take an army larger and more organized than Snoga's ever was to breach that fortress now."

Roxroy spoke up, his now-healed sword paw tapping the tabletop. "Have you seen or heard anything at all about that villain? Or your hare Hanchett?"

"Nay," Alex answered. "I've doubled the Forest Patrols ever since that attack, and our sparrows have been keeping their eyes out as well. If any of those beasts were anywhere in near Mossflower, we would have seen them."

"I was astounded to learn from Klystra that Lord Urthblood didn't send out a force from Salamandastron to hunt down Snoga and bring him to justice," said Mina. "That shrew attacked one of our strongholds and killed our soldiers!"

"I share your feelings, M'Lady," Tolar said, "but you can't fight an enemy you can't find, and Klystra reported that Snoga's band seems to have disappeared into south Mossflower. My place is at Foxguard, otherwise I would have been sorely tempted to lead out my foxes on a hunt after Snoga myself. But if that falcon can't turn up those barbarians, I doubt I would have had any better luck. Lord Urthblood seems content to let it go, and with the threat of another attack on Salamandastron by Tratton with his new weapons, I can't really say I blame him."

"I wonder whatever did happen to Snoga, and Hanchett," Winokur mused. "It is puzzling."

"We may never know," said Geoff. "History is full of unanswered riddles and unsolved mysteries. Some things just sort of go away and fade into insignificance ... "

"Well, as long as Snoga never darkens the doorsteps of either Redwall or Foxguard again," said Tolar, "I can live with not knowing what became of him!"


	3. Chapter 86

Chapter Eighty-Six

Snoga felt things were finally starting to go his way again.

Standing at the large ornate window that looked out over his courtyard and the vast expanse of calm waters beyond, the True Guosim chieftain reflected upon all that had happened to bring him to this point. After the disastrous attack on the swordfoxes, with nearly half his forces slain and the rest put on the run by relentless, invisible avengers who never once dared to show themselves - and with Gomon and others challenging his leadership from within his own ranks at nearly every turn - Snoga recognized he needed two things: a sanctuary beyond the reach of their pursuers where he would be able to regroup, and some kind of victory, however small, that would allow him to reassert his uncontested authority over his shrews.

He remembered the big inland lake from dim childhood stories, and from vague references gleaned over the seasons from various travellers he'd met. Some of these even claimed to have seen it with their own eyes. And he recalled other legends too, the faintest whispery myths of an isolated island at the center of this miniature sea, and a now-extinct race of creatures called Marlfoxes who'd dwelt in a splendid castle upon that isle. Perhaps these were all just fairy tales conjured up to entertain youngbeasts before bedtime, but if such an island castle truly existed, Snoga could not have wished for a better hideout. Now all he had to do was find it, if he could.

Once Fitkin crossed the True Guosim on his ferry barge, delivering them from Hanchett's immediate wrath, Snoga led his followers back east again into the thick of lower Mossflower, only this time on the south banks and hopefully beyond the reach of their landbound pursuit. The dense forest canopy here would also hide them from the eyes of any birds flying overhead - an important consideration, given Urthblood's known use of winged warriors among his forces. Thus shielded from enemy eyes, they pulled out their limited supply of axes and saws and set to work building themselves a new fleet of logboats. These woods provided plenty of trees for their needs, and fortunately - or unfortunately - they'd not require nearly as many as before, after the losses they'd suffered in their ill-fated battle with the Northlanders. The mere thought of this made Snoga grit his fangs as he worked at felling trees and hollowing out the trunks to shape the vessels. Ordinarily the temperamental shrew leader would be content to let all the others perform the necessary hard labor, but he knew his position now was precarious among his discontented gang and he had best lead by example to help renew their flagging faith in him. The exertion actually felt good for a change, allowing him some outlet to vent his massive frustrations. He realized his typical tantrums and tirades might well get him killed given the current tensions within the True Guosim. Besides which, any traitorous-minded beast here would think twice about trying anything as long as Snoga had an axe in his paw to go along with the usual eyes in the back of his head.

During the two days it took to fashion their new fleet, Snoga was also quick to invoke the spectre of their lethal pursuers. He easily quelled any dissatisfaction and diverted unwelcome questions by reminding his fellow shrews that they were all in this together; the unseen foe who wanted them dead would make no distinction between the leaders of their band who had planned the attack on Foxguard and those who'd merely been following orders. Enough shrew bodies littered their path of escape for this argument to prove most persuasive. Instilling fear of dangerous outsiders was always good for fostering a little extra unity.

It was also during this time that, unbeknownst to the True Guosim, Klystra recommenced his reconnaissance flights over southern Mossflower at his badger master's bidding. But the multilayered treetops, heavy with the full bounty of the late spring greenery, served to hide Snoga's shrews well as they labored on their logboats beneath the cover of the leafy branches. And so it was that several times the falcon passed directly over them without bird or shrews even being aware of the other.

When at last they took to the broadstream, fortuitous timing continued to favor them. Tree limbs and other concealing growth overhung many parts of the river, but along other stretches the stream lay open and exposed from one bank to the other. Snoga's waterborne caravan stuck as close to the south shore as they could, taking advantage of any cover there and ever mindful the vengeful enemies they'd left behind on the north side of this river. This strategy served them well; a quirk of fate had them obscured by overhanging branches every time Klystra scouted along the river, and so they remained hidden from the eyes that sought them out.

Headed inland and away from the sea, the True Guosim found themselves paddling against the current for all they were worth just to make any headway. The narrow profile of their logboats helped greatly, providing minimal resistance to the waterflow, but they still had to stop twice for rest breaks that first day, putting ashore along the south bank and pulling their rough-hewn vessels up into the cover of the woods until they were sufficiently rested to get underway again.

The end of that day's strenuous rowing found them drawing up to Lorr Bridge, the vast timber construct of pylons, planks and arches that the Guosim had helped their eccentric bankvole friend build the summer before. The mere sight of the thing filled Snoga with wrath and soured his stomach with bile. Log-a-Log had convinced the shrew tribe, over Snoga's objections, to commit to that nonsensical endeavor and waste a huge chunk of their limited seasonal wandering time tied down to one spot, engaged in a project that would directly benefit the Guosim not one whit. This bridge was a reminder of everything Snoga hated: the fool who now led Mossflower's shrews and all the idiots who followed him, too dense to see that Snoga truly deserved to be Log-a-Log ... and that crazy vole too, who had inexplicably been embraced by the Guosim and no doubt by the Redwallers as well. If those really had been Abbeybeasts fighting on the side of the foxes, it was hardly surprising, since Log-a-Log - now indebted to Urthblood for saving his son - would have had all winter to impress his side of things upon the Abbey leaders during those long nights of storytelling by the warm fireside, corrupting their minds and unduly influencing them in the sheltered comfort of Redwall while the shrews who represented the true spirit of what the Guosim stood for were forced to fend for themselves outdoors through the coldest depths of winter.

That coldness had hardened Snoga's already stony heart. It was this chill - now carried inside him at all times - that had enabled him to plan the attack on Foxguard, and press on with it even after woodlanders came out in open support those treacherous swordvermin. Glancing up at the high arch of Lorr Bridge as they paddled toward it, Snoga was gripped by an ire that surprised even him. He wanted to lash out at the wooden structure, to deal it a kick that would send it tumbling into the river.

"Guess this 'ere's as good a place t' stop fer th' night as anywhere," Gomon said from the logboat in front of Snoga's.

"Yah, only if'n ye're a stupidbeast who don't care whether 'ee lives t' see another day," Snoga scoffed, pointing at the landscape around them. "This bridge lies right along th' main road through Mossflower - anybeast could happen along at any time. An' look at all th' clear space, 'cos of th' trees that got chopped down t' make this fool contraption! We're more exposed here than we been all day! Keep rowin', shrews! We can't stop fer th' night 'til we're well past here, back in th' thick woods that'll hide us!"

And so on they paddled.

On their second day after passing the bankvole's bridge, Snoga's troop came to a place where several streams and rivers met in a confused tangle of side channels and cross-cuts in a marshy region that was neither land nor lake but a little of both. It was here that the fugitive shrews were able to leave the main river they'd been following and switch over to another flowing south, thus losing themselves in the heart of this wild and overgrown region beyond even Klystra's ability to track them. And lost they literally were, for these were parts unexplored by any shrew in their company, every tree and rock and bend in the broadstream new to their eyes, strange and unfamiliar.

"Whaddya think ye're doin?" Gomon demanded of Snoga at one point. "Ye're gonna lead us inta some dead-end netherland we'll never find our way outta!"

"I know what I'm doin', gitface, so shut yer gob an' stop questionin' my authority!" Snoga shot back. "If t'weren't fer my leadership, we'd prob'ly all be dead now!" This may or may not have been true, but he'd drummed it into his followers enough times in recent days that many had come to take it for granted ... as well as lose sight of the fact that it was Snoga who'd put them all in jeopardy in the first place. Yes, an effective leader knew the uses of fear to instill loyalty, and Snoga was feeling secure enough in his position by now to let some of his old arrogance and belligerence creep back into his manner.

Their arrival at the big inland lake caught them all quite by surprise. One moment they were cruising along their chosen watercourse at a good clip, surrounded on all sides and above by the densest forest growth any outlaw band could hope for, and the next they were out from under the concealing gloom onto the flat surface of an inland sea that stretched out before them for as far as the eye could see. So vast was this reservoir that a number of streams and brooks fed into it even as it served as the wellspring for others flowing out of it to the ocean. If any island was truly to be found at the middle of this great lake, Snoga could not discern it at this distance ... although perhaps it was just the sun's glare reflecting off so much water that obscured his vision. His gamble that they would be able to find this lake had paid off, and Snoga intended to push his luck in this matter as far as it would go. He was willing to bet his life - and the lives of every shrew in his company - that there was indeed an island, and perhaps even a castle, right where legend said they would be. It might very well mean their lives if such a refuge was not available to them.

But such expanses were not to be crossed by hunted beasts in broad daylight, not with the threat of aerial spies prowling the skies on the lookout for them. No sooner had their logboat caravan shot out onto the open waters than Snoga waved them all back toward the shore, where they could pull their boats up once more under the protective cover of the trees lining the lakeside. It was there that Snoga announced his most audacious plan yet.

"Cross that thing at _night_?" Gomon sputtered, incredulous. "That's ... that's insane!"

"No," Snoga countered, "insane would be paddlin' 'cross it in plain view o' our enemy! We know Urthblood uses birds, an' whether any o' th' ones we've spotted since we went on th' run are his is besides th' point. Them otters at that fox tower was swearin' t' hunt us down, an' after seein' 'em in action, I take 'em at their word - them, an' ev'ry other fanatical fightin' beast that badger's got at his command! Now, you've all heard me say my piece about that island. I think it's there, I think there's a castle on it too, and I say that it's the only place we'll be safe from Urthblood short o' paddlin' ourselves clear 'cross th' ocean!"

"But, what if there's still Marlfoxes livin' out there?" Poss worried. "Look at all th' trouble we got inta last time we went messin' with foxes ... "

"Ain't no Marlfoxes!" Snoga snapped. "They're all dead. Legends say so."

"What if th' legends're wrong?" Gomon challenged.

"Then we're gonna go find out fer ourselves," said Snoga. "An' we'll take plenny o' weapons with us! If there's any nest o' villains layin' claim t' that isle, we'll paint it red with their blood an' chuck their corpses to th' fish! That island's ours now!"

"If we can even find it," Poss said, staring uncertainly out over the empty waters.

"We'll find it, awright," Snoga maintained. "My eye says it's gonna be a clear night, so we'll navigate by th' stars. We'll push off soon as it's full night, an' make due south rowin' hard as we can. If we ain't reached it by sunrise, we oughtta at least be within sight of it, so we c'n adjust our course accordin'ly ... "

And find it they did. Setting forth as soon as the first twinkling stars sparkled out against the descending mantle of night and putting their backs into their synchronized oarstrokes, the tiny flotilla propelled itself across the open waters with such rapidity that more than one shrew among them feared they would shoot clear across the big lake to the opposite shore by the time morning came. The greater fear, however, was that they might find themselves stranded in the middle of this freshwater sea with limited provisions and no land in sight in any direction ... and as the pale dawn gave shape to the world around them, it appeared those fears may have been well-founded. The preliminary ghost shades of the new day revealed naught but the becalmed mirrorlike waters all around them. It was not until the risen sun burned off the last vestiges of the wispy morning mists that their goal was exposed. Ahead of them in the distance and slightly to the east, the featureless waterscape was broken by the only land visible to north, south, east or west.

"Cripes!" Gomon spat. "We paddled like demons from dusk 'til dawn, an' we still ain't halfway 'cross this confounded thing!"

"That's th' point, addlehead!" said Snoga. "Most beasts don't even know 'bout yonder island, an' those that do wouldn't dare this crossin'. But there 'tis, just like I said it'd be! Nobeast's gonna be able t' find us all th' way out here, that's fer certain. See, mateys - I toldja I'd deliver ya t' safety, an' I'm good as my word!"

"Well, I'm just glad we didn't miss it alt'gether," mumbled Gomon. "If we'd been rowin' any harder or longer, we coulda shot right past it, an' then where'd we be?"

With the sun up and the morning fog lifted, Snoga urged his tired shrews on, not wanting to be caught out on the open waters in full daylight any longer than they could help it. Taking up his own paddle in aching paws to provide an example of decisive leadership, Snoga turned their caravan east toward the distant isle.

The heavily-armed shrew force hit the shores of the isolated land mass an hour before noontide. Even from a good way out they'd been able to see the castle rising high above the north side of the island, towering nearly as tall as the interior mountains at its back. Snoga diverted his small fleet south toward the forested part of the isle, since the castle seemed in no great state of disrepair ... which meant that somebeasts had been here fairly recently to maintain it, if they weren't here still. Snoga fully intended to make this haven his own, and would not play second fiddle to anybeast else.

Finding a sheltered cove on the island's southern tip, the True Guosim hauled ashore their logboats and charged up into the wooded, mountainous terrain toward the castle from behind. They didn't know whether they might have been spotted from those high windows before steering south, but there was nothing to be done for it now. Clearly, if any sizable strength defended the castle, a frontal assault by the shrews would prove futile. Instead they would come at it from overland, scout around to see if they could discover what creatures might be living here, and then plan their moves accordingly.

The peaceful water rats tending their spring plantings that tragic afternoon were taken completely off guard by the army of shrews that came sweeping down upon their cleared fields from the forest above. Nearly every fit adult male of the rat farming community, along with many of the females as well, was out amongst their crops, leaving mostly the children, the elderly and the infirm back in the castle. None were aware of the invaders' presence on the island, the shrews' arrival having gone undetected by the busy cultivators.

Fully half the rats lay slain before the battle-fevered attackers realized the rustic rodents seemed entirely without weapons and were making no move whatsoever to defend themselves. The islanders stood nearly twice the height of the shrews, but the ferocity of Snoga's assault - first with hails of slingstones and then followed up with a spreading wave of slashing and stabbing shortswords - left them stunned and helpless. Not a single shrew was lost in the engagement; if it even occurred to any of the rats that the rakes, spades and hoes in their paws might serve as makeshift armaments, none acted upon the notion. They had lived in peaceful isolation for so many generations that all ways of warfare were strange to them.

Snoga's shrews, of course, had no way of knowing the history behind the creatures they'd just vanquished. They saw only rats, and rats were vermin, and vermin belonged dead. But not even Snoga could persuade his fighters to slaughter unarmed beasts who'd fallen to their knees clasping their paws before them in beseechment for their very lives. So, the survivors were rounded up and marched to the castle at swordpoint while their murdered friends and family were left to lie where they'd fallen under the hot spring sun.

Snoga was delighted by the splendor of the castle that met his eye as they swept through it from top to bottom, passage to passage and room to room, gathering up any rat who could walk and herding them down to the courtyard to join the other prisoners under armed guard. Scores of generations had passed since the Marlfoxes last dwelt here, but the plundered treasures with which those mystical beasts had surrounded themselves was still very much in evidence. Certainly the finer bedclothes and furnishings and carpets had long since lost some of their opulence, but there still remained many extravagant hangings and appointments and artworks which had withstood the passage of time. And of course the castle itself was a magnificent residence with its sloped, stairless corridors and spacious chambers - a palace befitting the now-gone race of luxury-craving foxes who'd dwelt here ... and equally befitting the Log-a-Log of the True Guosim.

For all their bloodthirsty faults, there was no way the True Guosim could bring themselves to execute their prisoners, since many were children, ladyfolk and oldsters. Sending them off the island would not be possible, and tempted as he was to order them into exile on the south half of the isle to fend for themselves, Snoga preferred to keep them all where he could see them, just to make sure they wouldn't cause him any mischief down the road. Not that there was much danger of that; these rats may have dwelt in a splendid palace once ruled by vermin royalty, but they lived as a simple agricultural community - families and farmers, not a warrior among them. And now with so many of their malebeasts dead, and so many of the survivors having seen how formidable the shrews were in battle, Snoga deemed they would prove docile enough. That left only one option as to their fate.

Having thoroughly secured the castle - assuming there were no hidden chambers or secret passages, which would be uncovered in good time if they were there to be found - Snoga made his way down to the courtyard and addressed the assembled rats, who stood or sat hemmed in on all sides by shrews with drawn blades at the ready.

"Lissen up, you rabble! This island now belongs to th' True Guerilla Union o' Shrews In Mossflower - that's us! From now on, ye'll serve our needs an' do whatever we say! Give us any trouble, an' ye'll wind up like yer dead friends back in yer fields!"

An older, gray-furred rat - perhaps the elder of their community - spoke up. "Why should this be? We have lived here for generations, tilling the soil an' keepin' up maintenance on Castle Marl. This's our home. By what right d' you come here an' slay us an' claim all we have fer yerselves?"

Snoga stalked over to the beast in question, but his reply did not come in words. Without uttering a syllable, the shrew chieftain drew his searat sword and ran the elderbeast through. The old rat fell to the ground, clutching at the mortal wound and gasping his last breaths, eyes already glazing over.

Snoga stood over his victim, sneering down at the dying creature. Slaying rats with a searat blade - now _this_ was what being Log-a-Log was all about!

"He t'were askin' a perfectly reas'nable question!" a ratwife protested.

Snoga wasted no time in slaying her too for good measure.

Standing midway between the two bodies with his bloodied blade brandished menacingly, Snoga glared at the rats encircling him within their own circle of shrew guards, daring any more to speak or act against him. Anger and resentment smoldered in some of those eyes that returned his gaze, but the prevailing emotion he saw was fear. Many stood sobbing silently, while some of the younger children clutched tightly onto the legs and hips of grownups, whimpering softly. The sound was music to Snoga's ears. These rats weren't the brightest of beasts, that much was plainly evident, but even they had to realize that if they tried anything, there would be a bloodbath ... and their children would be caught right in the middle of it.

"Please don't go a-slayin' no more o' us," implored one of the few remaining adult male rats. "We jus' wanna tend our lands an' raise our families in peace. We'll do whatever y' say."

"Now there's some good sense," said Snoga. "All I'm interested in is Lordship of this castle an' island. We shrews ain't normally slave-keepin' creatures, an' the only reason we're makin' you our servants is 'cos there's naught else t' be done with ye. Don't think fer one moment that ye're necessary to us, or that we can't get along just fine without ya. We inherited yer worthless hides when we conquered this isle, an' they're ours t' do with as we please. Give us any reason t' think ye're more trouble than ye're worth, an' we'll just get rid of th' whole lot o' you." Snoga pointed at first one rat corpse then the other with his gore-stained sword. "If'n y' get my meanin' ... "

That had been nearly half a season ago, and never had the cowed rats given Snoga cause to regret not casting them all into the lake for the pike to have ... not even though Snoga made them all sleep outdoors in every kind of weather, and forced them to subsist on rations that were half what the shrews enjoyed. Almost certainly they were sneaking a little extra for themselves when they worked their fields, but Snoga didn't care as long as they stayed out of his way. He'd not had to slay any more of them since that first day ... not that there weren't times he wished one of them would step out of line just far enough so that he'd have an excuse to spill some blood. Snoga really did not like rats, not one bit.

So the True Guosim now ruled their own island, surmounted by a castle that would be the envy of many a chieftain and royalbeast. And they were safely beyond the reach of those who wanted them dead. Snoga had at long last delivered his followers both the sanctuary and the glory he'd promised them. This was the victory he'd sought, and not even Gomon had been able to say one word against him since the conquest of this island.

But it was not enough for Snoga. If they were safe from their hunters, neither could the True Guosim venture forth from this island without the fear of running into them again in the lands beyond. And if they ruled over the water rats they'd enslaved, they were merely exiles themselves, presiding over an indentured vermin populace only slightly more wretched than they were. Yes, Snoga had his victory under his belt. But the ambitions for a far greater victory smoldered within the banked fires of his soul.

Snoga still wanted to hurt Urthblood, now more than ever before. That badger was the reason Snoga had to hide here in the middle of an inland sea instead of standing as the Log-a-Log of all Guosim. First had been the indignities of last summer, and then the victory turned to defeat at the fox fortress. And while his true shrews of Mossflower had been put on the run in their own woodlands, those vile foxes had been left free to .. to ...

He could not complete the thought, even as his eye strayed to the point on the northern horizon where stood the thing that taunted him without cease these days. If he squinted, he could just make it out, pointing into the sky like a fine red needle. From this high double window of Castle Marl, no shoreline could be seen to the north ... but the summit of Foxguard could, showing its obscene altitude where sky and water met. Snoga knew what it had to be, impossible as that was to believe. No other artifact could conceivably be visible from this distance.

For most of his time in exile on this island, that red tower had been a thorn in his mind, driving home to him that Urthblood's power in Mossflower was growing even as Snoga was forced to cower in anonymity as little more than a castaway. But recent developments gave the renegade shrew leader encouragement and hope that the situation might soon be reversed, or at least evened out to an extent. The tide was turning in his favor, he could feel it, and if he played his acorns right, Snoga could soon expect to become the dominant figure in lower Mossflower.

A faint scuffling and clatter behind him reminded Snoga that he had an appointment, and could not tarry here lost in his private ruminations forever. He turned to regard the ratchild servant, who strove to remain silent and invisible as he cleared away his master's teatime tray. The water rats had pleaded so incessantly to have their youngsters given quarters within the castle, so that they would not have to dwell outdoors in the baking sun, heavy rains and cold winds with their parents and grandparents, that Snoga had finally agreed to take most of them in as serverbeasts to wait on the shrews. The lodgings assigned to the juvenile rats were closets and storerooms, since Snoga and his most deserving followers had claimed all the bedrooms for themselves and weren't about to surrender them to the whelps of the vermin they'd conquered. But as long as their children were in from the elements and sleeping where it was comparatively warm and dry, the adult rats were satisfied with the arrangement. As satisfied as enslaved and terrorized beasts could be, at any rate.

Snoga lashed out with his footpaw, dealing the rat a savage kick that sent him sprawling and the tray's contents clattering across the stone floor. So hard had the young slave tried to keep from dropping the tray that he made no attempt to break his own fall, and ended up with a chipped fang, a bruised chin and a bloodied lip. Kneeling on his scraped knees, he stared up at his cruel tormentor through tear-filled eyes, not daring to ask what he might have done to provoke his master's displeasure.

The adolescent rat was nearly Snoga's height even on his knees, but did not possess a tenth of the tyrant shrew's meanness or brutality. Intimidated and confused as he was, it would never have occurred to the youngbeast to raise his paw to Snoga in retaliation or self-defense.

"Clean that up, you clumsy sack o' worthless meat! There'd best be no trace o' that mess when I get back, or I'll show ya what a real thrashin' is!"

"Y-y-yes, sir!" the terrified rat whimpered.

The shrew ruler spun imperiously on his heel and strode from his grand private quarters to keep his meeting with his fellow chieftain.

Truly, Snoga did not like rats.


	4. Chapter 87

Chapter Eighty-Seven

Snoga was not the only shrew chieftain on the big inland lake.

Not long after the True Guosim's arrival on the island and their subjugation of the native water rats, a delegation of their fellow shrews in a pair of twin-hulled logboat catamarans drew up to the docks below the castle courtyard. Clearly these were not any of Log-a-Log's Guosim, and if this was some force of Urthblood's Northland shrews meant to subdue, capture or annihilate the renegade band, that Badger Lord would have been well advised to dispatch a good many more than the score or so that met Snoga's eye.

It turned out that these strange shrews in their unfamiliar craft were neither Guosim nor Northlanders. Their leader Tasnuva served as chieftain for a loose affiliation of shrew tribes who dwelt along the shores of the inland sea. Like most of their species, many of these tribes were wanderers, but instead of journeying throughout Mossflower they limited their travels mostly to the lake and its immediate vicinity. Thus, while they were highly knowledgeable about everything that went on in their local neighborhood, they knew next to nothing about current events in the wider world beyond.

They had, however, heard a great deal about Urthblood's shrews, some of whom had penetrated far south in their explorations of lower Mossflower. Sensing from Tasnuva's tone that the local chieftain was less than enchanted by what he knew of the Northland shrews, Snoga seized this opportunity to forge an alliance of convenience. Casting aside the bellicose, standoffish and suspicious attitude with which he'd first greeted Tasnuva, Snoga feigned a friendly smile and invited the visiting shrews up into the castle to share the best hospitality he had to offer.

The lakeside shrews seldom ventured out to the isolated island, most only barely aware of the rats who lived there. But when Tasnuva had received reports of strange shrews who'd been seen journeying out into the heart of the boundless lake, he felt compelled to investigate. Anybeasts who set out onto these wide waters without knowing what they were getting into could very easily find themselves in distress, but Tasnuva also wanted to make sure these were not shrews of Urthblood's who might seek to cause trouble or lay claim to what wasn't theirs. The reputation those Northlanders were making for themselves in these parts led him to suspect that this was just the kind of thing they might try.

If Snoga didn't recognize Tasnuva's shrews upon their arrival at the island, the reverse could not be said; the various lakeside tribes had had enough dealings with the Guosim in seasons past to identify the headbands and shortswords of that clan. And if Tasnuva was mystified by the hostility with which Snoga initially met him, he was only too happy to let bygones be bygones once Snoga's attitude transformed into a friendlier and more welcoming one. As for the rats who dwelt here, Tasnuva readily accepted Snoga's explanation that they'd reached an accommodation that would allow the shrews and rats to share the island in peace. None of the adult rats were there to say otherwise, busy out working their fields, and the children and elderly were too terrified of Snoga to dare contradict their new master in front of his guests.

Tasnuva may have sailed out to the island purely to investigate the situation, but he departed three days later having officially agreed to an alliance with Snoga. The True Guosim leader, who'd misled Tasnuva into believing he was Log-a-Log and spokesbeast for all the Guosim, was quick to exploit the lake shrews' reservations over the intrusive and pushy Northlanders, invoking territorial passions and exhorting that this was a time when all Mossflower's shrews must stand together to meet this threat. When he saw Tasnuva hesitating, Snoga played his trump card: Foxguard. Escorting the local chieftain up to the highest windows of Castle Marl, Snoga pointed out the red tower which even then had grown to such heights that its unfinished summit could be discerned above the lake horizon. Tasnuva was agog at the idea of any structure so tall. With Gomon and the others backing him up, Snoga outlined how Urthblood sought to subjugate Mossflower by building an all-seeing fortress for his fox elite and their vermin minions, creatures the Badger Lord held in higher standing than even his impertinent shrews. Twisting the facts just enough to suit his purposes, he described how they'd gone to Foxguard demanding that construction of the stronghold cease, and how the treacherous swordsbeasts had answered their ultimatum by attacking and slaying over half their number and sending out assassins to stalk them across the length and breadth of southern Mossflower. (He pointedly excluded all mention of woodlanders and Redwallers being present at that battle, as well as the mice and voles they'd terrorized in the course of their panicked flight.) This, he concluded, was why they'd come to this island seeking refuge; they'd been branded outlaws in their own homeland by Urthblood's vicious and unrelenting fox killers, and this was the only possible place they could go where they wouldn't be hunted down and slaughtered.

Tasnuva at first refused to believe that any badger would accept such odious creatures into its service, or would seek to dominate Mossflower through force and terror, but all the True Guosim backed Snoga up with solemn nods and avowals of affirmation. And the evidence of Tasnuva's own eyes could not be ignored. In the end, he could only accept that what he was hearing was true. After all, these were the Guosim, beasts known far and wide for their decency and forthrightness, not some intruding outsiders who seemed to think they could boss around the longtime residents of this region. Snoga's tale explained everything, from what the Guosim were doing here in the first place to the frosty reception they'd given Tasnuva upon his arrival, to Foxguard itself. The story all seemed to hold together without any obvious internal contradictions, especially in light of what Tasnuva already knew about Urthblood's shrews. So, in the end, he swallowed Snoga's version of events hook, line and sinker.

And, in the end, Snoga got what he wanted. Tasnuva agreed to act as Snoga's eyes and ears on the mainland, alert for any news pertaining to the situation which would then be relayed to the True Guosim as quickly as their rowers and the weather permitted. (The lakeside shrews understandably refused to venture out onto those far-reaching waters during storms, which could whip up waves as formidable as any met on the open ocean.) There was always the danger that Tasnuva might discover Snoga was not in fact the officially-recognized Log-a-Log and his followers not the genuine Guosim, but Snoga was confident he could talk his way out of that situation as well if it should arise. For now he needed Tasnuva as an ally and not an enemy, and this minor deception was worth the risk if it could let them know what was going on beyond the island.

So far, his investment of deceit had paid only dividends to his benefit. With Tasnuva's tribes gathering intelligence for him, Snoga learned that most of the Northland shrews in Mossflower had congregated at a garrison called Doublegate that Urthblood had had built to guard the captured underwater searat vessel. This information gave Snoga more ammunition with which to sway those lakeside shrews who might still doubt his actions or motives; first Foxguard, a vermin stronghold to stand toe-to-toe with Redwall and challenge that good Abbey's authority, and now a fortress for that badger's equally verminous shrews who acted like they owned these woodlands. Clearly Urthblood meant to take over all of Mossflower and put it under his rule, whether the resident creatures of these lands wanted that or not. There could be no other explanation for this militarization of the forest.

If Urthblood had sent his squirrels or his mice or his otters to set up bases in Mossflower, Snoga would have been much harder pressed to make his case. But there wasn't a shrew living along the shores of the great lake who hadn't had bad experiences with foxes at some time or other, and the totally overbearing manner of the Northland shrews had put them off completely. For all that Snoga had suffered at the paws of Urthblood's forces this season, the Badger Lord's very same decisions that had caused the True Guosim so much trouble now played into Snoga's schemes perfectly.

This strategy worked so well that Snoga gathered warm bodies as well as intelligence. A number of shrews from the lakeside tribes, having heard about the battle at Foxguard (or Snoga's version of it, as was the case) and admiring the way this stalwart new shrew chieftain among them possessed the boldness and resolve to stand up to Urthblood's imperialist ambitions in the name of Mossflower's creatures, left their individual clans in order to join up with the True Guosim. But these were hardly the only new recruits Snoga would have. While the majority of Urthblood's shrews were stationed at Doublegate, quite a few still patrolled other parts of lower Mossflower, lording it over any of the native shrews (and otters, and mice, and voles) with whom they happened to cross paths. Some of these affronted beasts pulled up whatever roots they had and set out for regions where those bossy newcomers might not be as likely to harass them ... and a good many of these displaced creatures found their way to the shores of the big lake.

The coup de grace against Urthblood's influence in this region came with the arrival of over a score of defectors from the real Guosim. At first Tasnuva was confused by the sudden presence of these new Guosim who claimed they were breaking with their Log-a-Log in order to join Snoga, but Snoga dismissed his concerns with the casual admissions that he'd known there was a rouge faction of the Guosim out there somewhere, but they were indebted to Urthblood and really weren't independent Mossflowerians. The new arrivals, seeking Snoga's favor after their long and uncertain search for him, did not dare correct him. After all, they would not have abandoned their brethren and sought out Snoga if they hadn't agreed with him on the main points of the situation.

Snoga was delighted to see this erosion from his Guosim rival's power base, and even more thrilled to hear that at least another score still within the Guosim had grown so disenchanted with Log-a-Log's leadership that they too were on the verge of quitting.

Fortunately, news of what had really happened at Foxguard had not yet spread to southern Mossflower, so Snoga was free to prejudice defector and refugee alike with his own version of events. Not knowing Redwallers and woodlanders had also been attacked by the True Guosim, all were quick to accept Snoga's actions as perfectly justifiable.

And so it was that, with the first day of summer nearly upon them, Snoga found himself commanding an army of over two hundred shrews - more than he'd had when he attacked Foxguard. This was not counting all of the shore tribes who would render him whatever assistance he desired if he were but to whisper in Tasnuva's ear. Plus, there was a clan's worth of otters and a pawful of boating 'hogs Snoga felt sure he could rely upon in a pinch. It was beginning to look as if Urthblood's arrogance in thinking he was free to remake Mossflower according to his own design might be his undoing.

But it was still not enough. Urthblood commanded many times the forces that Snoga could ever hope to attain, and if the Badger Lord found out the shrews who'd attacked his foxes were holed up on this island, he would undoubtedly swoop down here in full strength to avenge his fallen swordsbeasts with total annihilation. Snoga wanted not to sit here on his bitter exile's throne with this sword hanging over his head, but to take this war to Urthblood once more in a way that might rally all of Mossflower to his side and leave that badger no choice but to withdraw from these woodlands ... which would also leave Log-a-Log thoroughly discredited and without one of his major sources of support. It would be easy for Snoga to take over leadership of all the Guosim under such circumstances. All he needed was an unequivocal victory, to make up for the one that had been denied him at Foxguard - one in which Redwallers and woodlanders would not come to the aid of his opponent, where it would clearly be a case of Mossflower's defenders standing up against the uninvited invaders from the north.

Snoga knew precisely the target for such a decisive blow ... and now, thanks to Tasnuva, he was beginning to formulate some ideas on how to go about delivering that blow.

His footpaws slapped defiantly against the stone floor of the sloping corridors as he half-stomped and half-swaggered down to meet with the lakeside shrew chieftain in the castle courtyard. He'd watched from the upper window as Tasnuva's catamaran approached, even as he'd been daydreaming about events of the past half season and how he might be able to reverse his setbacks in light of his more recent gains. The twin-hulled sailboat, bearing its full complement of shrews as well as its two supremely important prisoners, pulled in and tied up as Snoga looked on from above, anticipation setting his fur aquiver. This would, he knew, be the start of his ultimate gambit, and if he set down this path there would be no turning back, no matter the risks he would face from both his badger nemesis and his own creatures ... and from the new allies he hoped to win to his cause, assuming he could even attain such an alliance. If any but the most loyal of his shrews around him discovered what he had planned, they would never go along with it.

For over two seasons now, Snoga had coveted a weapon that would ensure him total dominance over all his enemies and rivals. He'd been there when Urthblood captured the underwater searat craft, and thus knew what the Flitchaye gas could do. But Snoga's bid to seek out those subterranean-dwelling vermin and acquire their sleeping vapors for himself had gone awry when those cannibal weasels answered his offer of an alliance by imprisoning his four envoys, eventually killing and eating two of them. If the others hadn't escaped and made their way back to him, Snoga might still be wondering what had ever become of them. Clearly, he would not be adding Flitchaye gas to his arsenal anytime soon.

So, he would just have to find himself another weapon.

Snoga winced as he stepped out of the castle's shadow into the full glare of the sunny afternoon, paw shielding his brow. He was glad for the sunshine, and the calm weather that came with it. When he'd first received news of the two creatures Tasnuva had taken into custody five days earlier, Snoga demanded they be delivered to him immediately. Tasnuva had agreed, but with the distances involved on this veritable inland sea, immediately meant several days. If storms had interfered, Snoga might be waiting days more to receive his captives.

The two rats were on their knees in the walled courtyard, paws bound and heads bent so far forward they almost touched the ground. Armed shrew guards surrounded them, weapons at the ready in case the larger vermin tired to cause any trouble. Snoga stepped up to them and began his inspection.

"As y' c'n see," said Tasnuva, "they're dressed in woodland rat garb, but if they're woodlanders then I'm a badger! Found 'em sniffin' 'round one o' our lakeshore settlements, an' knew right away sumpthin' stank about 'em ... an' not just in my nostrils neither. T'were three of 'em, we think, but one we hadta slay when 'ee put up too much resistance. Fierce fighters, these rats are, so watch yerself with 'em."

"Oh, I'll watch m'self, awright." Snoga bent down for a closer look at the two restrained rodents. "Hm ... ain't woodland rats, an' they ain't th' kind o' water rats like we got on this island neither. An' does my nose deceive me, or do I catch a whiff o' sea salt off o' them? Didja bring their weapons like I toldja to?"

"Course I did." Tasnuva dug into a canvas sack and withdrew three swords and numerous knives and daggers. Songa ignored the smaller blades, taking up one of the swords.

"Hm - not a cutlass, but still there's somethin' distinctive 'bout this piece ... an' familiar, too." Snoga drew his own sword from its scabbard at his waist and held the two weapons out low, side by side, so the rats could get a good look at them. "Well, whaddya know? Almost identical!"

"Wh-where'd you get that?" one rat stuttered.

"Off a searat I slew last summer - a searat jus' like you!"

"So they are searats," Tasnuva said. "Suspected as much. Tho' I still ain't sure why y' wanted 'em brought all th' way out 'ere ... "

"I gotta question 'em," Snoga replied, glossing over the fact that Castle Marl, being a onetime vermin lair, possessed facilities - namely dungeons and torture chambers - that would render his interrogations far more effective than anything with which Tasnuva could have threatened the rats back on the mainland.

"Whatever y' says, matey. Jus' hope it's worth it t' you, seein' all th' trouble we went through gettin' 'em out here. So, how's things goin' 'tween you an' yer rat friends on this isle?"

Snoga slung a welcoming paw around Tasnuva's shoulders as he led his fellow chieftain toward the castle. "Well, you 'n' yer crew jus' come on up inside where we c'n getcher some food 'n' drink after yer long voyage here, an' I'll tell ya all 'bout it. Gomon - " Snoga nodded at the two searats, " - get that wavescum settled in downstairs under lock an' key. I'll be down t' see to 'em later."

00000000000

Snoga got to bed very late that night ... but it was a happy shrew that slid between the sheets and laid his head on his pillows to dream his dreams of glory and conquest.

Once he got Tasnuva's crew settled in for the night in the best beds the castle had to offer - except for Snoga's own, of course - the True Guosim chieftain bustled down to the dungeons so he could turn his attention to the searat prisoners. He'd made a point of lavishing liberal amounts of ale and spirits on his guests to ensure that they would enjoy deep and undisturbed slumbers this night. The last thing Snoga wanted was interruptions from nosy visitors wandering the halls of his castle.

He chose two of the burliest remaining adult male water rats to accompany him - each of whom he knew to have children serving inside the castle, children for whom they cared deeply. The dull islanders might not have been too bright in their intellect, but they had emotions that could be exploited just like anybeast. They would do whatever he told them to do.

Or showed them to do, as the case might be. The simple water rats lacked all experience in the methods and subtleties of inflicting pain upon others, and were neither too swift nor too eager to learn, leaving it to Snoga himself to demonstrate his preferred techniques on the two captives, often to the accompaniment of agonized screams that drowned out his own gruff words of instruction.

He had to admit, those Marlfoxes knew their stuff when it came to such matters. After the first couple of piercing shrieks, Snoga left the cell and stalked down to either end of the twisted basement corridor, but the shrew guards he'd posted there swore that the muted cries could barely be heard. Apparently the clever design of Castle Marl did not stop at sloped corridors connecting the various levels without stairs; the arrangement of chambers and passages down here contained sound most effectively, so that the old-time torturemasters could work day and night without fear of disturbing the royalty upstairs ... or upslope, as it were. Satisfied that his efforts would not attract unwanted notice, Snoga returned his attention to the searats with a vengeance.

He met with only moderate success until the hour past midnight, when one of the prisoners died from the tortures being inflicted upon him. The fumblepawed clumsiness of the amateur paingivers actually ended up contributing to their victims' agony, as well as hastening the premature death of one of them. And once that first searat was dead, his limp body slumped forward in the chains holding him to the wall, and the surviving prisoner saw that Snoga was willing to push this as far as it could go, his tongue suddenly loosened to an amazing degree. Snoga had made a point of chaining the two searats on opposite sides of the same chamber so that each would have a clear view of what was happening to his companion. He certainly had not wanted the treatment bestowed upon one to be wasted on the other.

By the time it was all over to Snoga's satisfaction, the two water rats stood aside with sweatstained fur and faces twisted in such anguish that they might have been mistaken for the ones who'd been tortured this night. In a way they had, since what Snoga had forced them to do was so against their naturally benevolent nature. Snoga suppressed a wicked inward chuckle. Rats torturing rats, on his orders! That alone would almost have made this all worth it, even if Snoga hadn't extracted a single word of useful information from the prisoners.

But he'd garnered many useful words from the second searat. Indeed, once he saw his accomplice killed, the remaining captive started babbling like a brook, answering all of Snoga's questions most willingly and in such detail that the shrew was almost overwhelmed by the quantity of information. At length Snoga dismissed his two reluctant torturers, summoned his shrew healers to tend to the delirious searat, and headed up to bed with his head swimming.

He'd known about the searats' new weapon from the escaped slaves who'd briefly shared captivity with his would-be ambassadors to the Flitch-aye-aye down in their caves. But this was the first time he'd heard that Tratton had attacked Salamandastron in force, and had been repulsed in spite of the devastating damage wrought by the explosive powder. Apparently this new weapon was still insufficient to defeat a mountain ... or at least a mountain held by a badger who had flocks of warrior gulls at his beck and call.

So, there had been a rebellion against the Searat King by his officers? An insurrection put down with bloody brutality ... Snoga almost admired the savage brilliance with which Tratton dealt with his rebels, even if it remained a complete mystery among the searats as to how their ruler had managed such a feat. One thing was sure: as a result of his defeat at Urthblood's paw and the betrayal by so many of his high ranks, Tratton was now intent upon redoubling his efforts in other areas.

These rats Tasnuva had apprehended were a part of those efforts. The searats' new strategy was to infiltrate Mossflower with spies in preparation for a possible large-scale move against the woodlanders who lived far inland from Salamandastron, and perhaps eventually against Redwall itself. The mission of these agents was to scope out the lay of the lands, establish ties with vermin who might help them with such an invasion, and probe for woodlander weaknesses they could exploit to their advantage.

Snoga cared nothing about any of this, confident that there was no way Tratton could possibly move enough of his strength into Mossflower to overcome the opposition he would meet ... especially with so many of Urthblood's foxes and shrews and other creatures stationed here. Then again, this stormpowder might prove far more effective against a building like Redwall or Foxguard than a mountain like Salamandastron.

One salient fact clearly emerged from all of this: Tratton was desperate. He needed a victory, even a symbolic one, as badly as Snoga had needed one after that debacle with the foxes. And desperate creatures would accept help from wherever they could get it. Tratton's scouts would be able to tell him a great deal - indeed, there was no way they could fail to see Foxguard from almost any spot within greater Mossflower - but there was a great deal more they were liable to miss ... especially if they were careless enough to get themselves caught or killed as these three had.

Snoga fell asleep that night dwelling upon the dangerous triumph that was now almost within his grasp. His attempts to obtain the Flitchaye gas may have met with failure, but there were other weapons out there to be had. Of course he would not help the searats conquer Mossflower ... but there was no reason they had to know that. Before anything else, however, he had to get Tratton's attention. And now, with the help of the captured spy, Snoga had some ideas on how to go about doing just that.


	5. Chapter 88

Chapter Eighty-Eight

As his reward to himself for a job well done, Snoga slept well past sunrise the next morning, leaving his lieutenants to look after his guests until he was awake, refreshed and ready to meet with Tasnuva.

Those same two lieutenants - Kellom and Febus by name - would play a crucial role in Snoga's hatching scheme. Both had been with the false Log-a-Log since his break from the main Guosim, and had shown unquestioning loyalty to Snoga through thick and thin, even during the frantic aftermath of that disaster with the foxes. In Snoga's mind, such faithfulness counted for far more than ability - after all, he wanted subcommanders who would obey orders without hesitation or second-guessing - and so, shortly after their arrival on this island, Snoga officially promoted Kellom and Febus to replace Ojomo and Groat as his right-paw shrews. He knew they would have no problem with rolling up their sleeves and getting down and dirty, taking whatever steps were necessary to enforce Snoga's will among the True Guosim. They would remain true and stand by their chief, no matter how questionable his actions might be. And those were just the kind of shrews Snoga needed for the task facing him now.

It was not just for himself that Snoga slept in. The searat who'd finally proven so talkative last night would need a few extra hours to recover from the experience ... and to be travel-worthy once more.

Snoga took his late breakfast on the run, stuffing the odd bit of food into his mouth as he hurried throughout the castle and its grounds, barking orders and making preparations for an immediate departure. He picked out the largest of their logboats, a craft that could accommodate over a dozen shrews along with their weapons and supplies. (Snoga had considered commandeering Tasnuva's catamaran, but that vessel's sails and twin hull would attract the kind of attention Snoga didn't need on this mission.) While the logboat was readied, loaded with many days' worth of provisions as well as tent canvas and bedding for ten beasts, Snoga picked half a dozen of his most trustworthy shrews to accompany him and Febus on this expedition. Kellom would remain behind on the island to ensure Gomon and the other potential malcontents didn't challenge Snoga's authority or try to take over things here in his absence.

So busy was the True Guosim Log-a-Log with his frenetic rushing to and fro that it was nearly lunchtime before Tasnuva could pull him aside for more than a passing word or two. "What's up?" the lakeshore shrew asked Snoga out in the courtyard, plainly referring to all the activity going on around them.

"Goin' away fer awhile."

"Yeah, I kinda figgered that out fer myself. Kinda sudden, ain't it?"

"Sumpthin' came up."

"Sumpthin' t' do with them searats we brought out 'ere yesterday, I'm bettin' ... "

"Yah. They told me sumpthin' I gotta go check out."

"What?"

"Prefer not t' tell ya, friend, if'n it's all th' same t' you. Leastways, not 'til I've had a chance t' go investergate it fer m'self."

"Must be pretty important, if ye're not trustin' yer scouts t' do th' job for you."

"Won't know 'til I know ... " Snoga stood nose to nose with Tasnuva, jaw set defiantly and gaze unblinking, determined to neither back down nor give in and reveal his true purpose. He did not want to make an enemy of the laketribes shrew leader ... at least not yet, and not at all if he could help it. Tasnuva and his folk were decent beasts, and rightful inhabitants of Mossflower, not like this Northlands rabble of Urthblood's who sought to take over territory that wasn't theirs. These shrews could be staunch allies to Snoga, quite useful to him and perhaps even necessary in the coming confrontation. But to keep them as allies, Snoga would have to keep Tasnuva in the dark now.

Snoga was helped out of this awkward spot - and into another - by the appearance of his searat prisoner just then. The limping captive, thrust forward by two of the shrews who would accompany Snoga on his mission, screwed up his eyes and nearly stumbled as his escorts shoved him out into the brilliant midday sunshine.

Tasnuva's eyes widened in alarm at the sight of the unfortunate rat. "By th' seasons, Snoga, what th' fur did you do to that creature?"

The reason for the searat's limp was obvious: two of the toes on his right footpaw were missing. As was the tip of his tail, which also bore a number of slices and gashes along its length. His right arm hung loosely in a shoulder sling, his right ear was gone, and a crude bandage over the left side of his face covered what could only be a gouged eye. Numerous other injuries - perhaps cuts, perhaps burn marks - showed on the arms and legs, although Tasnuva suspected the rat's tattered shirt probably hid even more indignities which had been visited upon his torso. Certainly the whiskers and fur on the left side of his muzzle had a generally singed appearance.

Tasnuva had had to rough up the two searats a bit during their capture, but none of these injuries meeting his eye now had been evident when he'd turned them over to Snoga yesterday.

"Hadta get information outta them. They wasn't talkin' too well on their own, so I gave 'em a little encouragment."

"That's what y' call it, eh? Is the other one this bad off?"

"Other one's dead."

Tasnuva scowled. "I didn't give 'em to you so's you could murder an' torture 'em!"

"Murder?" Snoga spat. "These vermin ain't beasts enuff that you could even use that word on 'em. Ain't like yer friendly water rats who live on this isle. Trust me, you've never dealt with their type before. Bloodthirsty, heartless villains who kill youngbeasts an' oldsters fer th' sheer fun of it, an' enslave any they don't slaughter! T'was fer th' best you left 'em t' me - I've had experiences with 'em before, an' knew what hadta be done with 'em."

Tasnuva cast a jaundiced eye toward the pitiful searat. "I'm surprised y' left this one alive, given how y' feel 'bout them ... "

"Course I left 'im alive. Need him t' direct me t' what I gotta go check out."

"An' then?"

"What happens to him then depends on what I find when I get there," said Snoga. "Long as he don't play me false or turn treacherous, he's got a chance at comin' outta this better'n his fellow seascum did!"

Tasnuva shook his head, clearly disturbed by this behavior on the part of his new ally. "Glad you got th' stomach fer this, matey, 'cos I sure wouldn't. All I c'n say is, I hope whatever information y' got out of 'em was well worth it."

"I'm sure it will be," Snoga declared with supreme confidence. "Fact, I'd bet my life on it."

00000000000

Tasnuva ended up taking Snoga's assurances on faith. He was, after all, a fairly decent and honorable shrew, and had yet to realize he had allied himself with a beast who possessed a shred of neither decency nor honor.

With only eight shrews going on this expedition, the rat was left plenty of room to stretch out on his back amidships in the logboat with a quartet of his captors fore and aft of him. The ravaged seavermin had hardly recuperated from the tortures of the night before. When it came time for him to help out with directions, Snoga could sit him up and keep him awake, but for now they faced better than a day's voyage across the wide lake, so their prisoner could be left to his fitful slumbers under his blanket. The True Guosim leader had never bothered to learn the searat's name; perhaps it had come out at sometime or other during the interrogation, and Snoga had either failed to notice or simply forgotten. It didn't really matter to him. With only one rat in their company, he could simply yell out, "Hey, you!" or "Ho, ratscum!" when he wanted that beast's attention. Or, better yet, he could just launch a swift kick at some part of the rat's anatomy whenever the situation called for it.

A few faint clouds whitened the horizon of the otherwise clear blue sky, promising an afternoon and evening of safe boating. There was no way Snoga could have considered embarking on his mission today if the weather had not cooperated. The ambitious shrew was risking everything on this expedition as it was; he wasn't about to have his hopes dashed before he'd even made it off this lake.

Knowing that a long journey lay ahead of them, Snoga and his fellow rowers struck a moderate pace that would not unduly tire them. For the rest of that day and all through the night they paddled at a steady rate that sped them through the calm waters.

Dawn saw them within sight of the still-distant north shore, the misty green forest line looming ahead of them like a tantalizing goal. It took until midmorning before they finally approached the mainland, but instead of going ashore Snoga turned them west to follow the boundary of land and water.

They'd now been rowing for nearly an entire day and night, but their journey was only just beginning, and they still had a long way to go.

00000000000

Hanchett was growing frustrated.

For what seemed the better part of a season now he'd crisscrossed the breadth and depth of lower Mossflower in his search for Snoga's criminal band, without success. It was as if those outlaw shrews had fallen off the face of the lands.

Hanchett would never know how closely he'd missed his quarry. After his drenching encounter with Fitkin, Hanchett was left no choice but to double back the way he'd come, until he reached Lorr Bridge where he could cross the broadstream that kept him from his foe. With the delays of escorting Cyril most of the way back to Redwall and then the roadblock Fitkin had thrown in his path, the Long Patrol hare couldn't even guess how many days ahead of him Snoga might be, or in which direction they'd gone. The best he could do was to go to their last known location, which was on the south banks of this river where Fitkin had crossed them. Once Hanchett picked up their trail again, he felt confident that he could track them wherever they tried to go. Unless, of course, they took to the water again.

Unfortunately for the young scout, that was exactly what had happened. Snoga's caravan had passed beneath Lorr Bridge the evening before Hanchett tread upon its high arch. But as the renegade shrews rowed upriver and east deeper into Mossflower in their search for the big inland lake, their pursuer turned in the opposite direction, west toward Fitkin's ferry station.

Hanchett did not even have to go that far. The spot where Snoga's murderous gang had chopped down enough trees to build themselves a new logboat fleet was obvious to any trackerbeast with half an eye, from the rudely shorn stumps to the curly and pungent wood shavings that carpeted the forest floor where the boats had been shaped and hollowed out. And scores in the soft riverbank clearly marked where the finished vessels had been dragged down and launched. Snoga was definitely back on the water again.

The question was, which way? Hanchett stood there for a long time pondering the possibilities. If they'd gone upstream, wouldn't he have seen them? Not necessarily, he had to admit; he'd not been watching the river every single minute during his trek here from Lorr Bridge, and there was always the chance they might have made it past that span even before Hanchett had reached it. And, of course, once they'd taken to the river, they could have put back ashore at the time and place of their choosing, on either bank. Water was one medium through which not even a Long Patrol hare could track - at least not water as deep and freely flowing as this.

Downstream, perhaps? Hanchett could always continue on to Fitkin's, and ask the shrew whether Snoga's gang had come back that way in their boats ... although, based on their last encounter, the hare doubted the ferrybeast would give him an honest answer even under threat of pain. Or more than the mere threat of it, as the case might be. For all his bad manners, Fitkin was no evil beast, and Hanchett was reluctant to resort to such methods to extract information from him. And it might all be for naught anyway, since Snoga had apparently been heading east. Then again, the True Guosim would have had no choice but to head into Mossflower to find the trees for rebuilding their fleet, as well as the cover under which to work that wood, so that might not mean anything after all.

In the end, Hanchett elected not to pursue a westward track. If Snoga knew Urthblood used birds for reconnaissance, that shrew would do everything in his power to avoid the open plains, on foot or in boats. The forest provided the cover Snoga would desire to shield him and his cronies from eyes looking down from above. Besides, to the west lay the Badger Lord and his army, and after attacking Urthblood's foxes, it made sense that Snoga would seek to keep as much distance between himself and Salamandastron as he possibly could.

So, east it was.

Hanchett often wondered in the days that followed whether Klystra had succeeded in delivering his report to Urthblood, and whether the badger tyrant would indeed dispatch a force to hunt down Snoga. Hanchett didn't relish the prospect of running into any large troop of Urthblood's Northland fanatics, not even if by some chance they were all woodlanders, like the squirrels and otters who were reputed to have attacked that searat lumber camp over the winter. But, as the second half of spring unfolded and the days made their lengthening march toward summer, no sign ever came of any forces from Salamandastron sent into southern Mossflower to bring Snoga to justice. As for Klystra himself, a few times Hanchett caught glimpses through the forest canopy of a large winged form circling high above the woodlands in a search pattern, but he couldn't get a good enough look to tell whether it was his erstwhile falcon partner or some other raptor. If the bird had noticed him at all on any of those occasions, it never swooped down to acknowledge the hare.

All the rest of that season Hanchett spent purposefully wandering lower Mossflower in quest of his elusive enemy, to no avail. His travels took him from the fringes of the Western Plains almost to the shores of the eastern sea, from the woods around Lorr Bridge south to the shores of a lake so vast that its opposite banks could not be seen even by his sharp eye. It was in this last location that Hanchett discovered large numbers of shrews living in scattered tribes along the lakeside, but after a period of clandestine observation (which he went about much more successfully than the soon-to-arrive searat spies) he determined they were local folk, neither any of the regular Guosim nor any of Snoga's defectors. Hanchett slipped away without revealing himself; shrews were renowned for being notoriously quarrelsome and disagreeable, and after his experiences with Snoga and Fitkin, he didn't want to spend time with any more of them if he could help it.

He apparently was not alone in this view. As his footfalls carried him back west once more, Hanchett ran into ever-increasing numbers of creatures - many of them shrews themselves - who reported unfavorable dealings with Urthblood's shrews. It seemed those Northlanders had permeated throughout southern Mossflower to a degree even the normally-suspicious Long Patrol hare had not suspected. At first he assumed these must be the soldierbeasts Urthblood had assigned to go after Snoga - shrews hunting shrews, it made the kind of twisted poetic sense that might appeal to that bloody badger - but when Hanchett finally ran across a few units of Urthblood's shrews, they swore they were only on routine patrol duty. Sure, they'd heard about what had happened at Foxguard, and had standing orders to be on constant lookout for the enemy shrew and his miniature horde, but they'd been issued no special instructions to chase after Snoga or try to flush him out of hiding. The whole thing left Hanchett scratching his head, but also somewhat relieved. He had no intention of giving up his own hunt for the villains, and he would almost rather do it alone than in concert with Urthblood's beasts.

Of course, that didn't rule out availing himself of their resources. In a pursuit such as this, one looked for information and clues wherever they could be found ... even if that meant venturing into the lair of a former adversary.

Hanchett paused on the outskirts of Doublegate, taking in the garrison's immensity. Even scaled to the shrews' smaller statures, the timber stronghold was still an impressive structure. It would have to be, in order to house the five hundred fighters Hanchett had heard would be stationed here. One huge barracks essentially comprised the entire fortress, a three-story building of considerable width and length and stark utilitarian lines, a simple quartering block with no style or flair or grandeur whatsoever, except for the unadorned grandness of its size alone. All in all, Hanchett mused to himself, a fitting abode for the similarly crude beasts who would be living here.

No fence or barrier ran along the outer perimeter of the garrison zone, nor did any need to; so many trees had been felled for the construction of Doublegate that the woodlands had been reduced to stump-studded clearing for a wide area north, west and east of the fortress. No hostile force could cross that ground without being seen.

Nor would it do them much good even if they could. The entire barracks compound was encircled by not one but two stockade walls, each a full treetrunk's thickness and a good two stories tall ... or three, by shrew standards. One inside the other, they formed a double barrier that even a large horde would have trouble breaching. The inner wall stood slightly taller than the outer one, so that shrew defenders on both ramparts would be able to shoot, sling and hurl down at any enemy seeking to lay siege to Doublegate. Plank gangways connected the two walltops, planks Hanchett assumed could be hastily withdrawn should the outer wall ever fall into enemy paws. On the three landward sides the walls looked out over the denuded forest, but on its south face the outer wall curved around to the very banks of the river where the underwater searat ship lay at anchor, as it had since its capture the summer before.

As Hanchett stood drinking in his first full look at Doublegate, he muttered his initial impression to himself. "Ugly monster of a thing, wot? An' comin' from somebeast who lived most of his life in a big lump o' rock, that's sayin' something ... "

Even at this respectable distance, the hare could see dozens of shrew heads peering his way over the sharpened timber ends of the battlements. But it was the shrews who'd been patrolling and drilling outside the wall who commanded his immediate attention, as a small phalanx of them detached themselves from their company and trooped over to the clearing's edge where Hanchett lurked in the treeshadows. Before they could hail him or demand he identify himself, the hare scout spoke first.

"Love wot you've done to th' place. Who needs all those blinkin' trees clutterin' up th' view, wot?" Hanchett didn't try to hide the sarcasm in his voice. As large as the clearing around Foxguard had been, this one was two or three times the size, and it was obvious that many more trees had been cut down here. Of course, all that wood had been necessary for the building of Doublegate, but the unrestrained extent of the logging here had turned this section of the verdant forest into an earth-hued eyesore.

The shrew leading the detachment scowled, making a show of keeping his paw on the hilt of his blade. "Ya friend or foe, hare?"

"Guess that jolly well depends on who you are, wot?" Hanchett replied cavalierly, stepping fully out into the sunlight.

"Watch yer mouth, bunny! Ye're on our turf now, so you'll be respectful or else!" The head shrew narrowed his eyes at Hanchett. "Hey, ain'tcha one o' them Long Patrol hares from Redwall?"

"That I am - th' very one who's been chasin' after that villain Snoga who attacked your fox friends up north. And unless I'm mistaken, you're that rascal Fryc who got our stoat Broggen so drunk last Nameday that he went an' killed our healer Sister Aurelia ... "

"That's Sergeant Fryc t' you, ya ill-mannered flopears!"

"Ill-mannered, hm? Wouldn't mind gettin' you alone in th' woods an' teachin' you a flippin' thing or two about manners an' responsibility, wot?"

Fryc bared his fangs, half-drawing his sword. Hanchett tightened his grip on his javelin, ready to spring into action, but relaxed again as a large winged form suddenly appeared on the high inner wall and launched itself toward them. "Well, here comes a familiar face ... "

Klystra landed alongside the tense scene, his feathered bulk dwarfing the shrews. "Hullo, Hanchett."

"Hey there, ya ol' pillowstuffer! Long time no see. Don't reckon you got any news on Snoga for me?"

"Have not seen enemy shrews since returning from Salamandastron. Not for lack of looking. Think earth has swallowed them."

"Yeah, I've been lookin' pretty hard m'self, an' I'm about jolly well ready to agree with you. I know they took to th' water on th' river north o' here a few days after you 'n' me broke off our pursuit of 'em, but after that it's like they fell off th' bloomin' face of the lands! Why didn't Urthblood ever pick up th' chase back when th' bally trail was still warm?"

"Lord Urthblood busy with searats, cannot spare forces from Salamandastron to hunt Snoga. So, left task to me. But so far, no success."

"Well, don't go hangin' your head, chappie. All season long I've been pokin' my nose under all these trees you can't see through from way up high, an' if a Long Patrol hare an' a sharp-eyed falcon workin' together couldn't turn up those rogues, I'm tempted t' say they're not there t' be found, illogical as that sounds."

"You give up then?"

"Oh, hardly. Mebbe this warmer weather'll flush 'em out of wotever hole they're hidin' in, ya never know, wot? But since my footpaws were leadin' me this way, I figured I'd drop by an' get a gander at this big shrew lodge for m'self. Mebbe even rest up here a few days - " Hanchett's gaze went to Fryc, " - assumin' I'm not unwelcome."

"Of course not unwelcome. Free to stay long as you like."

"Now wait just a minute!" Fryc started.

Klystra glared down his curved bill at the shrew. "Fryc sergeant, Klystra captain. Klystra say, Hanchett welcome."

Fryc saw fit not to raise further objections.

Hare and falcon led the way toward the oversized garrison, the bird striking a side-to-side gait so he could escort Hanchett rather than taking to the wing and leaving him alone with the shrews. Klystra was a keen enough observer of the behavior of the furred species to appreciate that the tension he'd sensed between Hanchett and Fryc was a step beyond the trivial. The raptor had seen enough of Hanchett's bloodthirsty side during the hunt after Snoga, and had personally experienced enough of Fryc's bad temper, to realize that leaving those two to their own devices was not the wisest course of action.

"You happy to know bankvole Lorr staying here," Klystra told Hanchett, "so you not spend time with shrews only."

This news surprised the hare, who'd been gone from Redwall since before the falcon had reported this fact to the Abbeybeasts. "Y don't jolly well say? Gave up th' Guosim for this lot? Bit of a trade downward, if y' ask me."

Fryc, walking behind them, snorted.

"Lorr asked by Lord Urthblood to help work on searat ship here. Good head on shoulders, that vole. Odd, though."

"Oh, y' noticed?" Hanchett laughed, for what felt to him like the first time in ages. "That vole does have a way with things that come apart an' fit back t'gether again, that's for jolly sure. Say, where is that rustbucket of Tratton's, anyway? After hearin' so much about it these last few seasons, kinda curious t' see wot all the bally fuss's about, don'tcha know."

"You see it before you leave, plenty time for that," Klystra assured him. "Searat vessel going nowhere. Your main worry now about sleeping - short shrew beds not made for long hare legs!"


	6. Chapter 89

Chapter Eighty-Nine

All was quiet and calm at Salamandastron ... except for the screams that nobeast could hear.

Since the vanquishment of Tratton's attack fleet half a season before, not so much as a single searat sail had dared to show itself above the horizon. The damaged chambers and passageways of the mountain fortress had been repaired or sealed up and abandoned, and most of the casualties were well on the way to recovery. Tulia was swimming again, and Altidor could often be seen these days circling high over the coastal plain, rehabilitating his mended wing. Those not fortunate enough to have survived the battle had long since been laid to rest, their graves joining those of the other honorable warriors who slept beneath the sands at the base of the mountain.

But nobeast assumed their troubles with Tratton were over. Down in his workshops, Trelayne and his fox assistant Kyslith toiled on with their glassblowing tasks, producing dozens more of the fragile bombs every day for use against the searats, should Tratton try to attack Salamandastron a second time. Trelayne's other apprentice Tolomeo might never be able to return to his previous occupation, but there was at least a hope that the maimed mouse might have some semblance of a normal life ahead of him; now that his vitriol-burned leg stumps were starting to heal over, Urthblood was working on a design for a pair of elaborate and intricately articulated artificial limbs that might allow Tolomeo to walk again with the assistance of no more than a simple cane.

This was hardly the only endeavor to occupy Badger Lord. The glass globes filled with corrosive vitriol and flammable lamp oil were not his only defenses, and would themselves be rendered all but useless without the seagulls to deliver them. Grullon was pressing hard to pursue searat ships out on the open ocean far from Salamandastron, to visit the same destruction upon them that they'd showered down upon the four dreadnoughts that sought to conquer the badger stronghold. Urthblood had very good reasons for not wanting to provoke Tratton further, reasons his newest allies would neither understand nor approve of, but for now he must keep Grullon appeased. The future remained unclear in these matters, and Urthblood might still need to rely on the gulls if Tratton renewed hostilities. But he would not provide Grullon the means to carry this war beyond these immediate shores. He would do his best to keep the greedy gull king satisfied with food alone, and hope that would be enough. If Grullon insisted upon harrying the pirate ships, he would have to do so without Urthblood's weapons.

Then there were the other lines of the mountain's defenses. Saybrook's otters may have been spending most of their waking hours lately fishing for seafood to keep Grullon's flocks well fed, but those swims also kept them sharp and fit, in case they were called upon to perform any additional waterbound assaults. The Gawtrybe squirrels, meanwhile, practiced their archery every day out on the mountainside to keep their shooting skills honed to a razor sharpness. Selected squads of the archerbeasts also continued to drill with the multishot bolt launchers. Several more of these rapidfire death engines had been added to the badger's arsenal, enough to cover all the mountain's major entrances. If by some turn of events Urthblood was forced to defend his home without the help of Grullon's gulls, he wanted to be sure it could be done. Reasonably sure, at any rate ... and with all of Abellon's mice and Tillamook's hedgehogs and Mattoon's weasels and rats to stand alongside his squirrels and otters, and the newly rebuilt and strengthened main gates, he felt confident that Salamandastron could be held against any comers. Not that he expected Tratton to try again anytime soon ...

Up on the plateau, the swivelling signal mirror stood mostly ignored and unused. The tower of Foxguard had finally reached a height at which flashed messages could be sent back and forth between Salamandastron and the fox fortress. Until a more complex catalog of signal codes could be compiled - and until there were events of sufficient note to warrant such communication - Urthblood would continue to rely primarily upon his birds to relay messages between his two strongholds. For now, the mirror had done its job.

It was those birds - or Klystra, to be precise - who had delivered the disturbing news of the attack on Foxguard by Snoga's splinter faction of the Guosim. When word of that incident had filtered throughout the mountain citadel, Urthblood's Northland defenders had automatically assumed their badger master would send out a portion of his strength to deal with the radical shrews, or perhaps even lead such a party himself. It thus came as a surprise when he announced after a day's deliberation that Klystra's report suggested Snoga's forces had suffered heavy losses and were now on the run, and were not likely to cause further trouble. Beneath their incredulity and mild outrage at the prospect of Snoga going unpunished, many breathed a secret sigh of relief. Eager as they would have been to bring this villain and his outlaw band to justice, they were all still getting over the battle with Tratton, and the idea of dispatching some of their strength deep into Mossflower on a chase that might last a season or more, at a time when the searats were still a threat, was one that would not have sat entirely well with them. If Lord Urthblood decreed that it was over with Snoga, that was good enough for them.

After all, he was the beast with the prophetic vision. If Snoga were going to prove a source of future strife, Urthblood would hardly be content to let him get away, would he?

The number of Gawtrybe stationed at Salamandastron was holding steady at around two hundred and fifty. If Urthblood had any intention of summoning replacements down from the Northlands to make up for those lost in skirmishes with the searats this past season and a half, he was keeping those intentions very much to himself. Apparently he felt that their current troop strength was adequate, given the crushing defeat they'd dealt Tratton and the seagulls they could call upon in a crisis.

Captain Matowick certainly did not feel he had cause for complaint. His top lieutenant was now also his wife, and the happiness of the kindred warrior spouses was practically unbounded. When he was with Perricone, even the everpresent ringing in his ears receded into insignificance ... and in the still of the night, when the constant buzz was at its most annoying, Perri was very good at finding ways to make him forget about his tinnitus. If it hadn't been for the distressing news about Andrus and Foxguard, this might almost have been a blissful time for the newlyweds. The lack of any visible searat activity was a pleasant bonus, and leading their fellow squirrels in their daily drills was all the honeymoon the militaristic couple needed.

There was, to be sure, a great deal going on at Salamandastron these days, a regimented bustle that may have been the new routine of the mountain fortress, or merely the lull between storms of war. It would be Tratton's call to make, but if the Searat King decided on further conflict, Urthblood would be ready for him ...

00000000000

The two weasels paused in the dimly lamplit passage, gazing down in horror at the dead rat they'd just pulled from the steel-lined chamber.

"Gaw! What th' fur's he doin' t' these - "

"Shaddup! We ain't s'posed t' be talkin' 'bout it!"

"But, they're all burned splotchy under their fur, an' bleedin' from their mouths ... "

"An' you must be bleedin' from yer ears, elsewise y' got mud packed in 'em! Lord Urthblood said no talkin' 'bout what goes on down 'ere!"

The two lowly soldierbeasts stood in one of the lower corridors of Salamandastron, just within the northeast foot of the mountain. The specially-designed room before them was vented to the outside so that it could be safely decontaminated after each test. Even so the sharp, eye-stinging, nose-burning essence that lingered made the pair of corpse retrievers hold their breaths and squint every time their duties took them into the chamber. A beast learned fast when it was assigned to this gruesome detail.

Urthblood and Mattoon emerged into the stone hallway from the adjacent chamber, where they'd been observing the trial through a thick crystal window set into one of the steel walls. It was from there that the Badger Lord was able to introduce his latest weapon through an airtight sliding panel, monitoring the effect of the thick yellow vapors on the searat test subjects. So far, none had been able to withstand the lethal effects of the lung-searing, skin-burning gas.

Afraid that his two superiors may have overheard them speaking, the second weasel said, "Sorry, sirs, I tried t' tell Fogra 'ere we ain't s'posed t' be talking, but 'ee can't keep 'is jaws from flappin' ... "

Urthblood dismissed the infantrybeast's worries with the wave of his paw. "Do not concern yerself, Thunig. If you must speak of things you have witnessed here, keep it among the other rats and weasels of this detail ... but take care that it does not go beyond them. My other captains and their fighters do not need to be burdened with the knowledge of what goes on down here, and you know how quickly rumors can spread in a garrison as tight as Salamandastron."

"Yes, M'Lord."

Mattoon glanced down at the dead searat, its pustulated face twisted in agony, and jerked his paw over his shoulder. "Okay, you two, Lendach 'n' Cruzzer're waitin' outside t' help with th' burial. Get this poor wretch under th' sand 'fore the sun comes up - we don't need anybeast else happenin' by an' catchin' a glimpse of this seavermin's state."

"Aye, Cap'n!" The two weasels saluted, then picked up the searat body and bore it outside into the night.

Once they were gone, Mattoon looked to Urthblood with a mixture of unease and consternation. "M'Lord, are y' sure this is really necessary, what ye're doin' to these rat prisoners?"

"New weapons must be tested, Captain. Can you imagine the disaster we might incur if we spring something on Tratton in the midst of battle and it fails to work as anticipated?"

"It's just ... it just seems ... it seems cruel, M'Lord. Like somethin' Tratton 'imself would do. When you ordered Matowick t' start capturin' some o' them searats an' bringin' 'em back here, we all figgered t'was fer interrogation an' such, not ... not this."

"Experimentation is a perfectly valid use for these prisoners. And before you begin to feel too sympathetic toward them, let me remind you that they were the ones who came to my mountain, seeking to slay or enslave all of us, and thus ensured their own destruction. I would have been completely justified in exterminating them to the last rat once the four dreadnoughts were destroyed, letting none escape alive, or rounding them up for immediate execution. Is it not better that they serve some productive purpose with their deaths?"

"Not from where they stand, I'd reckon ... "

"Their suffering is brief, as you have seen. If they had escaped to rejoin Tratton's hordes, fate may have brought them back to these shores in some season to come, to kill or be killed. Their deaths at that time might well have been more prolonged and agonizing than the ends they are meeting here. We can be sure of one thing: none of the searats I have put into this chamber will ever again torment or trouble the goodbeasts of these lands."

"That's true 'nuff. But still, it feels like a dirty li'l secret, th' way we're keepin' it all hushed up ... "

"Some of my troops might not entirely understand why this must be done."

"Oh, you mean like yer mice an' squirrels an' otters an' 'hogs ... "

"Have a care there, Captain."

Mattoon's tone became less challenging, but he did not take Urthblood's strong hint to drop the subject. "Can't help noticin' it's just us weasels an' rats you've shared this with. Makes a beast wonder whether ye're keepin' this from yer woodlanders 'cos you know they wouldn't approve."

"You are a woodlander, Captain."

"Yeah - a woodland weasel. Guess there's still vermin work an' goodbeast work ... "

"I am sorry if you see it that way, Mattoon. I had hoped you would appreciate how I am trusting you alone out of all my captains with this duty. That is not an inconsiderable honor for an assignment as vital as this."

"Still feels like dirty work, M'Lord. An' th' fact that I can't talk about it to anybeast else in th' mountain don't help any."

"What are the other captains saying?"

"They know th' searat prisoners're gettin' fewer 'n' fewer, an' they figger they must be dyin' somehow - I mean, they can see th' new graves outside well 'nuff fer themselves - but they assume ye're interrogatin' 'em, not ... this."

"Very well. I see now that you find this more distasteful than I had realized. You will be relieved to know that these tests are nearly concluded. In fact, I do not plan to use this chamber anymore after tonight."

"Oh? How else would you do any more tests at all, if not here?"

"I have demonstrated this weapon under tightly controlled conditions. Now we must find out how it will work on the field of battle."

00000000000

The crimson badger did not sleep that night, any more than on any other night, and so made his way up to his warbirds' eyrie as soon as he'd finished with Mattoon. The predawn sky visible beyond the covered terrace was still utterly black, holding not the slightest blushing hint of the distant morning. Altidor sat nestled in his straw bed fast asleep, while the owl captain Saugus, being of a nocturnal nature, was out foraging and making his routine night flight.

Urthblood stood silently at the doorway for awhile, hesitant to disturb the eagle commodore's slumbers. Altidor had worked hard in recent days to regain the full measure of his flying ability, devoting himself to his rehabilitation with singleminded purpose. A slight limp still showed in his gait from the searat arrow he'd taken through his leg, but his wing was now fully healed, allowing him to fly as expertly as ever. The only question remaining was whether his endurance was up to the task Urthblood must ask of him now.

Perhaps sensing his badger master's brooding presence, Altidor stirred and lifted his head, blinking at Urthblood through the darkness. The two of them stared wordlessly at each other for a long time before either spoke.

"Is it time?" the eagle finally asked.

"It is time." Urthblood strode further into the eyrie. "Do you feel up to this task?"

"The seagulls have assured me that such a flight is well within their capabilities, Lord. If they can do it, then I most assuredly can too. Have you chosen the two who will accompany me?"

"Yes. Both claim to have been to the island before and will be able to guide you there without any problem. They have been in training with me since midwinter, and I am confident I have blunted Grullon's influence over them. Their allegiance will be to me over him should they come to consider this a conflict of interest. Nevertheless, I have held them in isolation for the past two days, just to be safe."

"Do they know all the details of this mission?"

"They know only that you will be delivering a message of utmost importance. I did not see the need to provide them the details of the message itself."

"Do you think they would support such a plan?"

"I do not intend to give them a vote in the matter, until it will be too late for them to affect the outcome one way or the other. I am Lord of Salamandastron, and this is my decision to make. The conflict between searats and the badgers of this mountain is age-old, and how I choose to address that conflict is my choice and mine alone."

"Still, they might see this as a betrayal, if it works out as you hope. Or even if it doesn't ... "

"My alliance with the seagulls has brought us to this point. If this plan succeeds, I will not need them anymore. If it fails, they will have no choice but to stick with me. Grullon has become intoxicated with the level of destruction he can visit upon the searats, but the fact remains that he is powerless to deliver my weapons if I withhold them from his gulls. And perhaps he does not appreciate that some of the seagulls he has given me to train have come to see me as their Lord rather than him."

Altidor rose from his bed of straw, stretching his regal wings to their full span and taking a few faltering steps toward Urthblood to wake himself up. The badger studied his eagle in the near-dark with an appraising eye. "Are you sure you are feeling up to this, Commodore? Klystra will return within a few days, and if you harbor any doubts at all about your ability to undertake such a lengthy journey, I can send him in your stead."

"My gait may still be just a touch unsteady, Lord, but my wings are fine. They will deliver me to where I must go."

"Yes, but where you are going, the slightest display of weakness could prove a fatal misstep. If they suspect you are infirm or not at the peak of your physical powers - "

"I will show them reason to fear me, if they prove so foolish," Altidor cut off the badger. "Besides, Captain Klystra lacks my eloquence. As I understand it, Lord, you will need the point of your message delivered clearly and unambiguously, by a creature whose words will not be misinterpreted. With the stakes we are talking about, there can be no room for misunderstanding."

"I am heartened to see your thorough grasp of the situation. It is just that I would hate to lose you on this errand."

"I would hate that too. Am I to depart at first light?"

"Yes. As soon as the day brightens enough for the liking of your seagull escorts, you will be leaving. And since this will likely be our last opportunity to speak in private, let us review one last time what I want you to say to Tratton when you meet with him ... "


	7. Chapter 90

Chapter Ninety

Another Nameday had come to Redwall Abbey!

The cloudy night, with its dark blanket of puffy, furrowed floating formations drifting across moon and stars to obscure the celestial lights, caused some concern on the part of the Abbeybeasts, who were looking forward to the traditional outdoor summer Nameday celebration. Comfort was taken in the fact that Balla and the other hedgehogs felt no storm in their spikes, so a heavy rain seemed unlikely. Still, a great sigh of relief went up when the morning dawned bright and clear, with a fresh breeze and crystal sunshine dispersing the cloud cover to scattered patches of innocent white banners trimming a rich blue sky.

While Friar Hugh and his army of helpers toiled in the kitchens, putting the finishing touches on the feast's numerous culinary offerings, the rest of the Abbey's residents and guests helped themselves to bowls of candied nuts and trays of sliced cheese that had been put out in Great Hall, along with pitchers of cool mint tea and sweet apple cider. Afterwards, everybeast pitched in to set up the tables and benches out in the orchard; now that the tenuous overnight clouds had been banished by the strong summer sun, it looked as if taking their food and drink under the trees' shade would be the necessary order of the day.

Two extra sets of tables and benches had been fashioned for this occasion by the Abbey carpenters, and it was well that they had; the unanticipated arrival of Tolar's entire swordfox brigade would have presented a seating challenge otherwise. There was some debate about bringing up the big table from Cavern Hole, but in the end it was decided that they could get by without it. Seating might be a bit tight and there might be some rubbing of elbows, but Namedays at Redwall were always about sharing and togetherness, after all. This season, the feastgoers would just be a little more together than usual.

The hard work helped build appetites and keep the eagerly anticipating woodlanders occupied until the feast was ready to be served. To keep the children (and Vanessa) entertained and out of the way, Tolar agreed to put his squad through some mock drills on the north lawns, using wood swords instead of their real blades. Maura stood by to make sure there was no trouble, but the youngsters were thoroughly enraptured by the lightning-fast duels, and were soon placing wagerless bets amongst themselves on which foxes would win which contests. Even Vanessa, Droge and Budsock sat engrossed in this display, too caught up in the action to think about causing mischief.

"I bet Mista Grayspeck's gonna whip Mista Goldtip!"

"Maybe, but Mister Halfear could beat 'em both!"

"No way, Nessa! Grayspeck's th' best!"

"What about Mista Blue-eyes against Mista Three-toes?"

"Aw, no contest! Blue-eyes could even beat Splitear!"

"You mean Halfear, don'tcha?"

"No, Halfear's over there, an' Splitear's right here. They're two diff'rent foxes!"

"What about Three-toes 'gainst Mista Limpy?"

"Which one? There's two Mista Limpy's ... "

The children were of course not using any of the foxes' real names; with nearly fifty of the swordsbeasts visiting the Abbey, it was all they could do just to tell Tolar and Roxroy apart from the rest. They found it far easier to pick out some small distinguishing physical feature or characteristic about each fox - no small feat, given their identical black uniforms and similar regimental bearing - and assign them their own names based on these observations. The labels weren't always the most flattering ones, but if the swordfoxes were bothered by the youngsters' verbal fun at all, they were too professional to show it.

Only two foxes duelled at any one time, giving the others a chance to stand back and relax as they watched, but it was still hot under the early summer sun. Even the youthful audience found themselves getting tired and sweaty just from the excitement of cheering on their favored combatants. When at last Cyril and Cyrus tolled the bells to announce the commencement of the feast, everybeast on the north lawns was more than ready to retire to the welcoming shade of the orchard where they could cool off and recharge their spent energies.

The feastgoers quickly seated themselves, not wanting to delay the naming of the season or the subsequent outpouring of food and drink for one moment longer than necessary. The foxes took a table for their own slightly apart from the others, preferring aloofness to a central position as any kind of guests of honor. The exceptions were Tolar and Mona, who were reserved places at the head table with Arlyn and some of the other Abbey leaders, and Roxroy, who was delighted to rub shoulders with Winokur at one of the woodlanders' tables. Otherwise, all species sat as they wished, moles with mice and squirrels with hedgehogs and hares with otters in no special order at all.

Vanessa was bade to sit at the head table at Arlyn's right paw, over her objections. She'd wanted to sit with the "other" children, and seemed at a total loss as to why the Abbey leaders would want her to take her Nameday feast among them.

"Is this some kind of punishment?" she asked wide-eyed in all seriousness.

"Not at all," the venerable old Abbot assured her with a fatherly pat on her shoulder as Maura herded her toward the leaders' table. "It's just that we don't know how we could possibly get through this celebration without having your effervescent personality at the center of things to inspire us all!"

"Effer ... effervessa ... "

"It means you're a little rip!" Maura mildly chastised from over her shoulder. "Now if you can bring yourself to behave for just this one day and not make the Abbot regret bestowing this honor upon you, we'll all appreciate it, and maybe you'll get an extra fine dessert out of this ... "

"Dessert?" The mention of this seemed to unsettle Vanessa. "What about dessert?"

"Don't you worry, my child," Arlyn reassured her, "Friar Hugh made plenty of desserts to go around, so you'll be sure to get your share ... "

"As if she didn't know that already," Maura snorted, "since she was helping out in the kitchens these past two days. And from what I hear, she actually made herself useful without causing a catastrophe, miracle of miracles!"

At last they were all seated, fox and woodlander, child and adult and oldster, revered Abbey leader and simple goodbeast, every creature awaiting the pronouncement of the name this season would bear. For those who had experienced many Redwall Namedays before, the anticipation was no less than for those swordfoxes and youngbeasts and former slaves who had never witnessed such an occasion before.

Arlyn stood to address everybeast around him. "Before I get to the preliminary benediction and naming of this summer, I have a few ... um, preliminary preliminary statements to make. So much has been going on around Mossflower this past season, I almost don't know where to begin. I can certainly say that Brother Geoff and Winokur and I had no shortage of material from which to draw when we were composing our prayer verse for today!"

The old mouse gestured toward the table of foxes on the fringes of the gathering, then to Tolar and Mona. "First of all, a special welcome to our newest neighbors. Tolar and Roxroy have been with us for Nameday before, but the rest of their brigade including all their young cadets have not - indeed, yesterday was the very first time many of them had laid eyes upon our Abbey or set foot within our walls. And after the recent losses they suffered during that unfortunate incident at Foxguard last season, they deserve the best of Redwall's hospitality that we can offer them. Just glance over our east wall and you will see ample evidence with your own eyes that not even Snoga's cowardly and murderous band could defeat Mossflower's newest defenders nor deflect them from their purpose. Foxguard rose in spite of those villains' nefarious best efforts, thanks to the dedication and single-minded fortitude of these valiant swordsbeasts and their Northlands helpers. Thus is Redwall joined by a second bastion of peace and order, an architectural marvel unlike any that has ever been seen in Mossflower before, and quite possibly anywhere else in the world. May Foxguard stand in partnership with us for a thousand seasons, and a thousand beyond that, watching over these lands for the good of all creatures."

Tolar returned Arlyn's benevolent gaze with a placid smile. "That is certainly my own hope, Abbot."

Arlyn looked toward the next table over, where Grayfoot sat with Judelka, bouncing Percival on his knee. "And Foxguard is not the only new habitation to rise in our midst this past season. Captain, I know you plan to return to your tavern with your family after our festivities here are concluded, but I sincerely hope this will not be your last Nameday with us. We have all grown quite fond of Percy, and will miss him once he leaves. All three of you will have an open invitation to visit us whenever you wish, and to stay for as long as your circumstances allow. I hope those visits will be more frequent than just once a season."

"Thank you, Abbot," the ferret replied. "You folks've already showed me 'n' mine more hospitality than we coulda asked fer. I'll be busy gettin' things up an' runnin' down there fer awhile, o' course, but I'll keep yer invitation in mind, an' take you up on it when I can."

"Splendid. Last but by no means least, I believe Colonel Clewiston and Melanie have an announcement to make before we get started, so I'll turn this over to them." The Abbot sat while Clewiston, seated with his wife several places away from Arlyn at the same table, stood to face the large gathering.

"Well, no use beatin' 'round th' bally bush 'bout this," the Long Patrol commander said, "an' some o' you have figured it out on your own already, so I'll just come right out an' jolly well say it: me an' Mel are gonna be parents - her for th' third time 'n' me for th' first."

Cheers and applause greeted this news, not least from some of the other hares who'd already guessed what Clewiston was going to say. The coming of a new life into the Abbey population was always cause for celebration, but for the Long Patrol, eager to increase their numbers, this was an especial reason to rejoice.

Clewiston sat back down, blushing ever so slightly about the ears, and Melanie patted his knee for a job well done. Arlyn rose once more.

"Well, I suppose there are more things that could be said, but we will have plenty of time to say them to each other over our meal. So, without further ado, the moment you've all been waiting for." Arlyn cleared his throat, then commenced his recitation.

"Friends and guests, let us join as one

Shaded here from the summer sun.

Joy and peace upon everybeast

As we sit down to share this feast.

Former slave and orphan poor,

Now part of our family evermore.

May strife and sorrow stay away

On this and every future day.

New lives will this season see,

Babes to fill our hearts with glee.

While to our south just down the road

A ferret true makes his abode.

And to the east, greatest of all

A redstone wonder proud and tall.

A new neighbor to guard the land,

Redwall and Foxguard together stand.

So welcome now at this hour,

The Summer of the Red Tower!"

Everybeast applauded anew, although a number of the swordfoxes sitting off at their own table looked somewhat embarrassed at being the sudden center of attention.

"That was a nice little poem," Vanessa remarked to Arlyn as he seated himself for the final time. "I think every Nameday should start that way."

He smiled at her. "I borrowed the idea from a very good friend of mine. A very clever young mouse of whom I'm quite fond ... "

"Anybeast I'd know?" Vanessa asked.

Arlyn's smile turned wistful. "No. Not at the moment, no."

00000000000

If Friar Hugh's intent had been to impress and overwhelm the visiting swordfoxes with the gastronomical riches his kitchen was capable of producing, he succeeded beyond his wildest expectations. Tolar, Roxroy and Sappakit all knew what to expect, having stayed at the Abbey recently or been present at previous Nameday feasts, but for the rest - especially the young cadets - the experience was an astounding one.

Which was not to say that the other feastgoers were any less awed by the culinary wealth on display that day. Far from it.

"Mmm, this raspberry honeybread is to die for!"

"Well, _I'm_ gonna die if nobeast keeps that sweetmeadow custard away from me! Die happy, that is!"

"Watch you don't burn your lips or tongue on this celery and cream soup - it's piping hot!"

"It sure is delicious! But do we really need mad hot dishes in the midst of a heat wave?"

"Aw, ain't nothin' wrong with a liddle heat an' spiciness in yore food, any time o' year! Just do what this riverdog does, an' wash it down with some o' this wonderful cool mint tea!"

"Much prefer a jolly ol' jug o' this spankin' October ale, wot?"

"Aye, an' goes good with this shrimp an' hotroot soup too!"

"Well, I'll just stick with getting _my_ shrimp in these dreamy mellow cheese and watercress pasties!"

"I'm getting so full on this redcurrant teabread and buttered acorn apple bread, I don't see how I'll have room for any of the deeper'n'ever pie!"

"Burr hurr, marm, thurr allers be room for poie!"

"The herbs and spices in this dressing for the lettuce, radish and rhubarb salad is simply heavenly!"

"Hooray for carrot cake, wot wot wot!"

"Would you please be so kind as to pass me that pitcher of elderberry cordial?"

"Why, of course, Abbot. Elderberry for the elder!"

"Can't decide which I like better - this wild-cherry flan, that bilberry pudding or that honeycream damson whip over there. Guess I'll just hafta sample more of all three!"

"Morra candied chestnuts! Morra raspberry seedcakes! Morra morra morra!"

The only hitch in the afternoon's festivities - and after the tragedies of the previous Nameday, it was a decidedly minor one - came with the serving of Friar Hugh's centerpiece dessert, a towering confection of moist, sweet cinnamon cake decorated with whipped cream icing of the purest white and the most delicate consistency and texture. When this masterpiece was sliced and sampled by the Abbeybeasts, however, it was not met with the reaction Hugh had hoped for.

"Well, that's ... interesting, Hugh," Arlyn ventured, smacking his lips uncertainly. "Not sure I've ever tasted anything quite like it."

"Can't say I entirely care for it," Lady Mina said with characteristic forthrightness. "The hot spices and the sweetness clash rather alarmingly."

"Hot spices?" Hugh's brow creased in puzzlement.

Arlyn set down his fork, mouth open to give his peppered tongue some air. The Abbot had forced himself to eat three forkfuls of the cake so as not to insult the expectant Friar who stood over him, waiting to receive his ovation and acclaim. Arlyn's first reaction - that this was some kind of joke Hugh was playing on them - faded into a vain hope that this was some exotic concoction that would improve as one developed a taste for it. Unfortunately, the case turned out to be quite the oppostie. His eyes were actually watering by the time he'd swallowed his third mouthful, and his tongue felt like it was on fire.

"My, that ... that certainly does creep up on you! Colonel, wh-wh-would you mind passing me that water flagon?"

"O' course, ol' bean." As the hare commander complied, he said to Hugh, "Gotta give it to ya, Friar chappie, you've truly gone an' created a dessert only an otter could jolly well stomach!"

"Wouldn't go that far, matey!" Montybank said from farther down the table.

The lean mouse cook was wide-eyed with mystification and disbelief by now. He sliced himself a thin wedge of the majestic dessert and levered it onto a plate, then held it up under his snout for minute inspection. The cake looked fine, just as it should - a rich yellow texture so moist it fairly glistened in the dappled sunshade, shot through with rust red flavor specks and bordered in flawless cream frosting. But a healthy sniff revealed that not all was as it should be. Instead of the faintly spicy aroma of cinnamon that should have been wafting up from the treat, Hugh's nostrils were assailed by a far more pungent and less appealing fragrance. He snatched up a clean fork and sampled the flawed delicacy to confirm his fears.

"Don't take it too hard, Friar," Brother Geoff said charitably. "We can't always have everything turn out exactly the way we want it to." The Recorder mouse had already pushed away his own helping of the cake after a single abortive sample. "The cream on the outside was fine. Maybe you could scrape it off and serve it on top of fruit ... "

"At least it never made it past our table, so thank goodness for small things," said Alex. "One of the down sides to getting served first, I guess."

Hugh nearly spat out his mouthful of the cake as its flavor swept across his taste buds; he had all he could do to swallow it. "Paprika!" he bellowed, outraged. "Somebeast put paprika in the batter instead of cinnamon!"

"Well, that's an honest mistake," conceded Geoff. "The two do look very much alike - I've nearly confused them myself on occasion. But, wouldn't you have noticed the odor while it was baking?"

"You've obviously never spent much time in the kitchens when we're getting ready for Nameday," Arlyn smiled, dabbing at the corners of his eyes with his habit sleeve.

"No," Geoff responded with a trace of indignance, "because every time I've gone near the place at such times, I'm always chased away by an army of madbeasts brandishing ladles and cutlery!"

"And with good reason," the Abbot said. "Things are so fiendishly busy there, they can't afford to have even a single set of idle paws in their way. And with a dozen dishes cooking, baking, simmering and cooling at any given moment, it's not entirely surprising that the odor of paprika was lost in the confusion of aromas, and that this mistake went undetected until now."

"This was no mistake!" Hugh roared, slamming his plate down. "This was sabotage!"

"Oh, come now!" Arlyn chided. "Who could possibly have been helping you in the kitchens who would have done such a thing deliberately?"

Hugh's eyes bulged, red veins standing out against the white, as his paws clenched as tightly as his teeth. When at last he named the culprit, the accusation was like a volcano erupting.

"_VANESSA!_"

But the Abbess in question had quietly slipped from the orchard along with Droge and Budsock at the tainted cake's first appearance, and was now nowhere to be found.

00000000000

"I guess we should have called this the Summer of the Fire Cake instead!" Winokur laughed.

He and Roxroy lounged against the battlements atop the east wall, three meals' worth of food and drink gurgling happily in their stomachs. It was late enough on this, the longest day of the year, that the lowering sun now lay behind the main Abbey building and bell tower, which cast their evening shade over this section of the ramparts. The day was still quite warm, but after sheltering in the shade of the orchard all afternoon, it felt good to get up here where the gentle breezes were fresher and one could have a commanding view over the surrounding countryside. Before them in the distance rose the tower of Foxguard, many times the height of even the tallest tree, like some impossible children's toy. In the lingering summer sunlight, it glowed with a ruddy sheen that made it look even more surreal and fantastic than usual, sharp-edged and undeniable against the clear sky. It almost made the landscape look like a painting.

While some of the Abbeybeasts contented themselves with cooling their paws in the pond or strolling around the shadier parts of the grounds, a fair number had the same idea as the novice otter and cadet swordfox. Cyril, Cyrus, Smallert and several of the former slaves were among those who'd joined Wink and Roxroy on the walltop. So tall was Foxguard that it could still be easily seen even down on the lawns, but nothing could match the view of it from up here.

"Did you really help to name this season?" Roxroy asked his otter friend.

Winokur shrugged this off with a chuckle. "Abbot Arlyn has had plenty of experience picking season names - he was Abbot for something like twenty or thirty seasons before Vanessa became Abbess - and he had Brother Geoff to help him too."

"Is it hard to come up with a season name?"

"Depends on the season, I guess. Some are tougher than others." Wink waved a paw toward the lofty sentinel that towered over everything around it for as far as the eye could see. "It certainly wasn't any challenge finding one for this summer!"

Roxroy smirked in slight chagrin. "No, I guess not ... "

"Maybe come autumn, when we need a new name then, Arlyn and Geoff will let me help with suggestions. It'll all depend on whether the Abbess is any better by then, or if she's still running around trying to poison our desserts!"

The young fox shared Winokur's grin. "I know I really shouldn't laugh about it, but you have to admit, it was funny!"

"Aye, that it was," Wink agreed, "but that's often the way of things here at Redwall. We have a way of finding the silver linings in any clouds that darken our days, and finding humor and lightness in adversity. Vanessa's condition may be a sad state of affairs, but that doesn't erase the joyful silliness of some of her pranks. You lost a lot of friends and comrades in the attack on Foxguard, but I'm sure you never thought about those sorrows even once during today's feast."

"Well, actually," Roxroy admitted, "I did think of them quite a bit today, but only to stop and wish that they could have been here to enjoy these festivities as much as I was. Some of them were younger than I am, and never really knew such carefree hospitality as this in their lives. But I know what you mean. Redwall has something about it to set the heart at ease and soothe the spirit. Sharing this event with you folk has been good for all of us."

"Yes, this Abbey is renowned for its healing effect on those who need it. Last autumn, when the Long Patrol settled here after their defeat at Salamandastron, there was probably never any more disheartened or dispirited group of creatures seeking refuge at Redwall. Yet look at them today - laughing, singing, joking, starting families of their own. They'll probably always carry scars on their souls over their losses, but they've become part of our family, and as Redwallers I honestly believe they are happier here than they would be anywhere else."

"Yes," Roxroy nodded, "they do seem like any other contented woodlanders here. I must confess, I was a little nervous coming here the first time last winter, I'd heard so much about what grim warriors they were and what staggering losses they'd inflicted upon Lord Urthblood's troops at Salamandastron. Being a fox, I worried they might fight me just on principle, but they didn't harass me at all."

"Of course not. You were a guest of this Abbey, and they knew better than to besmirch our reputation for hospitality. They might not have been overjoyed by the idea of Foxguard itself, but they weren't about to disobey the Abbess and start a conflict over it on their own. Not most of them, anyway. Good thing not all of them are like Hanchett ... "

"I'll say!" Roxroy had learned of Hanchett's brutality against Browder and Kurdyla and his subsequent flight from the Abbey during his previous visit with Sappakit, when they'd come to Redwall to officially announce the completion of Foxguard's tower. "I never would have guessed he was that kind of vicious renegade when he showed up in the midst of our battle with Snoga, and pitched right in to help us fight off those villains."

"He really didn't have much choice, since Snoga was threatening the Abbess and the rest of us, and he's sworn to protect all Redwallers. Besides, by then I think the Colonel and the rest of the Long Patrol had come to accept that Foxguard was going to be a part of their lives and there wasn't much they could do about it. I mean, it would have been hard for even Hanchett to continue to view you as enemies with Snoga there."

"What do you think happened to that hare?"

Winokur sighed. "That's a question we've all been asking, Rox. Half of me thinks he sacrificed himself taking as many of Snoga's gang with him as he could, and the other half suspects he's going to just show up at our gates again sometime this season or next, whistling a happy tune and waggling his ears in the sunshine as if none of this ever happened."

"If he did show up, after the way he assaulted two Redwallers, what do you think the Abbess - er, I mean, the Abbot - would do?"

"That's a very good question. If he'd just beaten Browder and Kurdyla and then run away and not reappeared after that, I don't think there'd be any question of allowing him back into the Abbey. But now, after his valor at Foxguard and whatever unimaginable trials he's endured since, I just don't know. I wouldn't be surprised if Arlyn left the decision to the two beasts Hanchett wounded, since they're the ones who would have to live with him and only they know whether they could forgive him. Kurdyla especially; Mona says he might not be able to walk on his own until midsummer."

"At least he was able to enjoy today's feast. That wheelchair you folks put together for him was a really great idea."

"Aye, and this hot weather helped too, since nobeast feels like getting up and exerting themselves when they can enjoy a nice seat in the orchard shade. But I think when Mona finally gives him the okay to walk again, even if it's with a cane, that otter's gonna be up out of his bed so fast it'll set your tail a-spinning!"

"Do you think Mona's going to stay at Redwall that long? Until midsummer?" Roxroy asked. "Because we were sort of counting on her coming with us when we returned to Foxguard in a day or two."

"That's really up to Tolar and Mona herself. I know the Abbot would like her to stay if it's at all possible."

A little way along the walltop, Vanessa - who had thus far managed to keep her tail separated from Maura's punishing paw over the paprika incident - found Cyril where he was loitering with Cyrus and Smallert. As the fox and otter looked on in amusement, the affected Abbess draped her paws around Cyril's neck and hung upon him like a smitten schoolmouse. She seemed about to sneak a kiss on his cheek, but before she could he wiggled out of her uninvited embrace and fled from her toward Wink and Roxroy.

"Gah! What's wrong with her? Ever since I got back to Redwall, she hasn't left me alone! It's like she has a crush on me!"

"That's 'cos I think she does." The novice otter winked at Cyril.

"It's not right!" the young mouse stammered, clearly flustered. "She's the Abbess! She just called me 'sweetheart,' for Martin's sake!"

"Now Cyril, you know these days she's Abbess in name only. She thinks she's a carefree youngbeast again." Winokur looked him up and down; even though Cyril had returned to his duties as bellringer along with Cyrus, he still wore the woodlander shirts he'd adopted as his garb when he'd left the Abbey with Broggen ... which had more than one Redwaller wondering whether he still considered himself a novice of the order. It was not unheard of for young novicebeasts to seek lives outside the order when they reached adulthood. "She sees you as a dashing wanderer, back from an adventurous journey ... which isn't really too far from the truth. Maybe if you changed back into your habit, Vanessa wouldn't be quite so ... fixated upon you."

"Yeah, maybe. I'm ready to try anything at this point ... "

Roxroy decided to try his own paw at joshing with Cyril. "Oh, I don't know - if I had a fetching mousemaid like that falling over me, I might consider myself one lucky mouse."

Cyril stared at the cadet swordfox in mortification. "She's ... she's the Abbess! She's old enough to be my mother! That's sick!"

Roxroy whispered to Winokur, "That wasn't going too far, was it?"

"Naw," his otter friend replied lightly, "tho' I reckon Cryil might beg to differ."

Cyril sighed and leaned on the battlements alongside the other two. Glancing back the way he'd come, he said, "Well, at least Cyrus and Smallert have waylaid her for me. She'd probably have come chasing over here after me if it weren't for them."

Roxroy's gaze settled on Smallert. "How'd you folks take to having a weasel living among you?"

"Smalley?" Cyril shrugged. "Fine, once we got used to it, which didn't take long at all. He's a goodbeast ... just another Redwaller now."

"Aye," Wink agreed, "we don't even really think of him as a weasel anymore, just a big lovable oaf. He's an honorary otter, y' know - he an' Broggen both were. And in spite of what happened with Sister Aurelia, I still think it's safe to say that, thanks to Lord Urthblood's efforts, we're all looking at things very differently nowadays. Why, at this time last summer, it would have been almost unthinkable to have a weasel living here as an Abbeybeast, or a vixen as our Infirmary keeper, or to be helping a ferret build a tavern down where St. Ninian's used to stand while his wife gave birth to their son here, or to be welcoming an entire brigade of armed fox warriors inside our walls as honored guests to share our Nameday. That badger promised us things would be changing, and by my rudder was he right!"

"For the better, I hope you'll agree," put in Roxroy.

Winokur gave a nod toward Foxguard. "Some change is so momentous, it really falls outside the narrow lines of good or bad - it simply is." He quickly threw a glance at Roxroy and laid a flipper on his shoulder. "Although it can't be argued, making new friends is always a good thing."

For awhile the three of them stood leaning against the cooling battlement stonework, gazing out over the verdant summer forest.

"I miss Broggen," said Cyril.

"I miss my Dad," said Winokur.

"I miss all my friends who were slain at Foxguard," said Roxroy.

"Well, then, I guess that's one thing Abbot Arlyn left out of that Nameday poem of his," Winokur said, and then recited an old Abbey verse that simply came to him then:

"On festive days of joy and sun,

When every thought is turned to fun

Forget this not before the end

To cherish well your absent friends."


	8. Chapter 91

Chapter Ninety-One

The same calm and peaceful night that fell over Redwall, sending most of the Abbey's residents and guests into the kind of blissful slumber that only followed a feast of epic proportions, also descended over Doublegate far to the south. But here there had been no feast or merrymaking, just the routine military business of one of Urthblood's garrison outposts. Shrews stood watch up on the double ramparts, more shrews did their sentry shift down by the riverside where the searat submarine was moored, and still more shrews patrolled the clearing and woods around the fort. Ever since Snoga's sneak attack on Foxguard, Captain Tardo was determined not to let his guard down, especially given the fact that those villainous shrews seemed to have vanished into thin air, which meant they could be literally anywhere. Even though more than four hundred of the Northlanders currently called Doublegate home - enough to utterly crush whatever ragtag remnants remained of Snoga's forces - Tardo was not a shrew to leave anything to chance.

Hanchett, for his own part, found four hundred of the cantankerous, curt and argumentative beasts four hundred too many for his liking. It was bad enough just being in the presence of so many rude and pushy creatures, but knowing they were Urthblood's soldiers and that they'd pretty much taken over this chunk of Mossflower, well, that just put extra grit in his oatmeal. And so it was that, on his second and most likely final night at Doublegate, Hanchett sought out Lorr down in the searat vessel, more to escape his ill-mannered hosts than to seek the company of the eccentric bankvole.

Lorr had already given Hanchett a brief tour of the strange underwater craft the day before. The hare found the mere existence of such a contraption exceedingly bizarre, and the experience of standing inside it rather odd, yet the novelty had quickly worn off for him. Hanchett was no nautical beast, nor any kind of mechanic or tinkerer, so he could not fully appreciate the ingenuity that had gone into the conception, design and building of the searat vessel. To his eye it was, when one got right down to it, just a big iron shell with a wood plank floor. It stank of searats and enslaved woodlanders, the few bunks were barely comfortable enough to sit on much less sleep in, and the various devices performed functions he could scarcely begin to fathom. The periscope provided him a few minutes' diversion, but once he'd thoroughly scanned both riverbanks and realized that was all he could see through the eyepiece no matter which way he turned it, the appeal diminished greatly. He could not conceive of any crew - searats or otherwise - taking to the open seas in this ship, cramped up in these unsavory confines for perhaps the better part of a season at a time. Such a voyage would surely drive him completely bonkers.

Those mysterious devices were lately multiplying. Urthblood apparently harbored ambitions of someday using this craft against the very searats who had wrought it. To that end, the Badger Lord had ordered several modifications made to the vessel, work with which Lorr was only too happy to assist. Following plans that Klystra had delivered to Doublegate and utilizing scrap metal that some of these shrews had brought down with them from the Northlands, the bankvole was making great progress on the desired additions to the searat submarine.

Chief amongst these alterations was a massive iron wedge fitted over the nose of the stubby vessel, an attachment that could surely stave in the sides of Tratton's smaller frigates and galleons as spectacularly as the rat King's own Wedge had punched a fatal hole in the hull of his flagship dreadnought the Whiteclaw. To this end, Urthblood had also instructed Lorr to redesign the turnscrew mechanism with additional gears, which would nearly double the craft's top speed and render it even more of a threat as a ramming vehicle.

These days Lorr spent nearly every waking hour either down inside the vessel or toiling and fussing over some fitting or component for the small ship. When the bankvole was nowhere to be found topside, Hanchett knew where Lorr must be. And although the hare did not much relish the prospect of spending any considerable time in the cramped craft, it would be worth it to share the company of a beast who was at least halfway civilized.

Many extra lamps had been brought down into the submarine to augment the dim light provided by the two built-in smokeless lanterns that were the only illumination sources the rat designers had seen fit to install. Since this was a worksite and not some clandestine infiltrator, it did not matter how much light escaped through the forward portholes into the waters beyond ... which was a considerable amount, according to the otters helping out with the external portions of the sub's refurbishment. To hear those waterbeasts tell it, the "eyes" of the vessel threw out so much light nowadays that they were like searchlights stabbing their beams out into the river. Hanchett certainly believed it, since he could see the glow beneath the rippling surface well enough for himself from up on the streambank.

He met up with one of those otters now, coming up through the hatch as Hanchett picked his way along the rickety gangplank to reach the mostly-submerged ship. These were Neskyn and Runsaa's otters from Holt Toor up the river, the closest otter clan to Doublegate. They had nearly ignored Lorr's request for their assistance, so put off had they been by the attitude of the bossy Northland shrews, but since Lorr was an honorary Guosim and Holt Toor were good friends of Log-a-Log's, Neskyn had at last relented and sent a pawful of volunteers from his tribe to assist with Lorr's work here. Hanchett got along well with the Toor otters, since they made no effort to hide their own disdain for Urthblood's shrews.

"Headin' down fer another looksee, matey?" the otter said in greeting as he hauled himself through the fake-treestump hatchway and onto the roof of the sub; he was a typically brawny specimen of his kind, and it was a tight squeeze.

"Just lookin' t' get away from those sawed-off bossywhiskers for a bally bit. Figgered a crazy vole's better than a rude shrew any flippin' day."

"I hear ya there, friend!" The otter clapped Hanchett on the shoulder and headed ashore as the Long Patrol hare stepped over the tall hatchway lip and fished around with a probing footpaw until he obtained solid purchase on the top ladder rung.

Lorr glanced up from the portable metal lathe where he was fashioning more parts for the sub's updates, and flashed a huge smile at the sight of his hare visitor. "Oh, hullo, Hanchett, hullo, hullo! Thought Lefkus had forgotten something, yes, he just left, yes he did. Wasn't expecting to see you, no I wasn't, no. So, what brings you down here, hm, hmm?"

"Just needed a vacation from all those nastysnouts up there," Hanchett replied, taking a moment to mentally decipher Lorr's customary rapidfire speech. "Figgered it'd be nice 'n' quiet 'n' shrewless down here ... tho', if you hafta do any bangin' or clangin', don't let me stop you, wot?" He sauntered back to the triple-deck bunks and sat down on the lowest one, leaning forward to keep from hitting his head. "I'll just rest the old tailbone here for awhile an' enjoy th' hospitality of ... um, wot's this rustbucket's name, anyway?"

"Doesn't have one, no, not yet, not yet," the bankvole answered, fiddling with the spectacles balanced on the tip of his snout. "But then, it's still a work in progress, very much so, yes indeed, yes it is. Can't go giving it a name until it's finished and ready for use, can we, no, I think not ... "

"Any bally idea when that'll be?"

"Not until well into summer, no, not before then. This work could proceed much much faster if we could have lifted this vessel up out of the water, put it in drydock so to speak, and be able to get at it from all sides without having to rely on the otters ... not that there's anything wrong with those otters, oh no not at all, they're perfectly fine fellows, yes indeed. Couldn't have got done half what I have without their help, and that's a fact, yes it is, yes. But you do what you can with what you have, that's all anybeast can do, isn't it? Still, all things considered, I suppose it's going as well as can be expected under the circumstances. Can't have ice cream in the summer or fresh lettuce in the winter however much you may want it, now, can you?"

"Hope you're done with the blinkin' thing before your Guosim buddies come back this way again t' collect you. Any idea when they'll next be showin' their headbands here?"

"Oh, you know the Guosim - they wander where they will, nothing to hold them down and no schedule to stick to. Log-a-Log said he'd be this way again sometime before they headed to Redwall for the winter, yes, but that could mean tomorrow or it could mean the last day of autumn. We'll just have to wait and see, yes we will."

"You can wait an' see if you jolly well want, chappie, but I'll be out of here come morning. Thought this stopover might be a nice little rest for my weary stumps, even if it would be amongst Urthblood's beasts, but I'da been better off sleepin' up in a bally tree. Don't know how you can stomach this host of runty grunts, 'cos I've had indigestion ever since I arrived!"

"Oh, they're not so bad, once you get used to them ... "

"Easy for you to say. You can poke your head into one o' your contraptions an' get lost in it for a season. These pipsqueaks could be takin' target practice on your tail an' you wouldn't even notice!"

Lorr chuckled at his own expense. "Yes, I do get rather wrapped up in my work, don't I? But, this vehicle is just so utterly fascinating, yes it is. Amazing to think that anybeast could have conceived it, just amazing, and these modifications Lord Urthblood has assigned me are quite challenging, yes, quite. I've wanted to roll up my sleeves and go over this vessel with a fine probe and magnifying lens ever since it was discovered last summer, yes I have, and now I have the chance to spend more time with it than I ever could have hoped for! Quite easy for me to get immersed in it ... immersed, haha!, that's a little pun there, you see ... "

"Yes, wot."

Lorr nattered on for awhile longer, his words gradually trailing off into a semi-coherent string of mutters and mumbles as he happily lost himself in his work once more. Hanchett tried to make himself comfortable on the lower searat bunk, but to no avail; the crouched sitting position was awkward, and he certainly wasn't about to stretch out on a mattress where pungently repugnant searats had slumbered. It was bad enough that he was exposing his backside to such perils.

At last he arose from his questionable perch, grumbling to himself. "Gah! These searats must've slept stacked on top of each other like a bunch of rancid three-layer trifles! If I sit here like this much longer, I'm gonna get a nasty crick in the old neckbone, an' no mistake!" Hanchett wandered across the plank flooring to the periscope and took the handles in paw for a survey of the nighttime river and its surroundings; Lorr had previously shown the hare how to use the device. Putting his eye to the eyepiece, Hanchett mused, "Might as well have a peek at wot's going on up there, tho' it's gonna be a right challenge seein' anything in that dark with it bein' so blinkin' bright in here ... "

Lorr glanced up absently from his lathe. "Oh, is it night already, so soon? I really do lose track of time when I'd down in here ... "

"Black as the inside of a peach pit at midnight out there," Hanchett affirmed, squinting into the periscope as he slowly swiveled it.

"Well, no wonder my stomach's been talking to me, no wonder at all! I've not had a bite since lunch! And this being the first day of summer, sundown doesn't come any later than this ... "

Hanchett, surprised, took his eye away from the viewpiece to look at the eccentric vole, blinking anew at the brightness within the submarine. "Really? Th' first day of summer? Y' don't say. Well, I guess you're not the only beast 'round here who can't keep tabs on th' jolly time. Knew th' weather's been warm an' we must be gettin' close to that time of year, but my mind's been on other things, don'tcha know."

"Oh, yes. I keep a calendar, always have, helps to know what day it is, yes it does ... " Lorr dipped a paw into one of the more spacious pockets of his lumpy, rumply, saggy overcoat and withdrew a compact tablet of tightly-gridded pages bounds together into a crude booklet. "Twelve seasons' worth of days I have here, and never a day missed, not a one!"

"Wheezin' good show there, wot." Hanchett returned his attention to the optic instrument. The vole's mention of this day's significance had stirred some vague feeling of wistful nostalgia within the hare. The Redwallers - and his fellow Long Patrols - would be getting ready for their Nameday feast, if they'd not had it already. Over the past three seasons, Hanchett had come to accept those celebrations as a part of his new life at the Abbey. And although he still considered Salamandastron his true home and never viewed Redwall as more than a temporary waystation for him and his fellow fighting hares, he had formed an undeniable attachment to the Abbey and its creatures. He didn't know whether the bittersweet pangs he felt now were over missing this summer's Nameday festival, or the fact that he most likely would never reside at Redwall again.

Once his vision adjusted from the interior brightness to the dark without, Hanchett found he could see the surrounding woodlands fairly well. A half moon hung in the summer sky, its yellow glow supplemented by the various watchfires that burned in the clearing around Doublegate and the myriad torches that blazed up on the concentric walltops. Urthblood's shrews certainly didn't have any qualms about advertising themselves to friend and foe alike, that was abundantly clear.

A movement out on the water caught Hanchett's eye. He almost missed it, lost against the moonlight rippling off the swiftly-flowing broadstream, but as it drew nearer, it was unmistakable: a single shrew logboat hugging the bank opposite Doublegate and yet shooting along at a brisk clip, propelled by both the strong current and the half dozen shrew rowers who bent their backs to their oars with purpose. Whoever these were, they were in a real hurry to get where they were going.

At first Hanchett thought they might be Guosim - their headbands stood out even in the limited light - but for the larger creature who sat incongruously among them. Urthblood's shrews might travel with a rat, since the Badger Lord kept those vermin in his service, but the Long Patrol hare didn't think it very likely that Log-a-Log would be rubbing shoulders with such villains, even if the shrew chieftain did feel indebted to Urthblood for the rescue of his son the previous summer. Unless, of course, this particular rat was a prisoner.

Hanchett strained to see whether the rat was bound. He never got to find out, for at that moment - the logboat's closest approach to the submarine - one of the shrews turned in such a way that his face was perfectly displayed to his unguessed watcher. Hanchett went rigid with the recognition.

"Snoga!"

Both the tone of alarm in Hanchett's voice and the content of his cry made Lorr glance up, startled. "Huh, what?"

"Snoga! Th' rotter's right outside!" The excited hare broke from the periscope and lunged for the hatchway ladder, scaling it as rapidly as his oversized landlubber's feet would allow.

Lorr, finding himself suddenly alone, hastened to the surveillance instrument for his own look topside. Swinging the periscope pole, he quickly locked onto the receding logboat.

"Hmm ... that hare must have better vision than I do, yes yes ... but if that really is Snoga, he's certainly not sticking around ... "

Hanchett nearly tripped over the high hatch lip as he struggled onto the gently sloped roof of the sub, one eye on what he was doing and the other on his fleeing foe. Up here, without the aid of the periscope's slight magnification, Snoga's small craft already looked farther away than the hare had expected, and that lead was growing by the moment. Hanchett was determined not to let Snoga escape him a second time.

Unfortunately, that was exactly what was about to happen. Hanchett proved his own worst enemy; in his frantic haste to reach the riverbank and resume his landbound pursuit of the Guosim renegade, he slipped off the unsteady gangway and pitched headlong into the water. Before he knew what was happening, he was caught up in the powerful currents, flailing with all the futility of an inexperienced swimmer. His head connected with the hard edge of the gangplank, causing him to see stars followed by cold, wet darkness.

00000000000

Febus glanced anxiously over his shoulder as the imposing fort of the Northland shrews fell behind them. "Frack, that place is huge! Must be a thousand o' Urthblood's shrewvermin in there! Hope they didn't see us!"

"Don't think it'd matter if they did," said Snoga. "Did you see any boats tied up back there? I sure didn't, an' th' way this river's rushin', there's no way they'd be able t' keep up with us on land. We'll be well away 'fore they even get their belts buckled!"

"Why'd we hafta come this way anyway? Awful risky, goin' right under th' noses o' so many beasts who likely wanna see us dead ... "

"I already told ya a dozen times, we gotta get to th' coastlands quick as we can, an' this's th' most direct way. But that's why I timed our arrival here t' be at night. If them shrews up on those walls noticed us out here t'all, there's no way they coulda reckergnized us in this darkness. We just woulda been a boatload o' local shrews out fer a midnight paddle. Why, I doubt they even coulda seen this seascum 'ere!" Snoga gave the bound rat in front of him a kick to the base of his spine, eliciting a pained grunt from the prisoner.

"So, we gonna stop fer th' night once we get up here a little ways more?" asked Febus.

"Nope. We're gonna be sleepin' on th' river t'night. This current's too strong not t' take advantage of it. We got a chance t' make our destination by daybreak if we keep paddlin' through th' night, an' that's not an oppertunity I wanna let pass us by."

Neither Febus nor any of the other shrews were going to complain about this strategy. After getting an eyeful of Doublegate, all lit up along its high walltops by its dozens of torches, they were quite content to put as much distance between themselves and the garrison as quickly as they could.

Although he shared it with none of his companions, Snoga had his own reasons for wanting to get a good look at Doublegate. And, as the outlaw shrew chieftain took one last backward look at the well-illuminated fort before it disappeared around a bend in the river, he knew he'd be seeing it again before the new season was done.

00000000000

Hanchett dreamt Urthblood was suffocating him with a pillow of water.

The young hare felt like he was clawing his way up from murky, clammy depths as he struggled back to consciousness. When at last he finally regained full awareness, eyes screwed up against the intrusive lamplight, he found himself entangled in the blankets of a small bed, his footpaws sticking out over the end of it, with no recollection of what he might be doing there.

A number of creatures surrounded him, looking on with concerned relief. Among them was the otter Lefkus he'd passed earlier that night. "Why, hullo there, sleepin' beauty! Yore th' luckiest hare in Mossflower t'night, friend! If I'd not been up on th' riverbank an' lookin' yer way when you came boltin' outta that tub an' fell in th' water, you'd be a drowned bunny right now!"

"Wot ... wot ... " Hanchett stiffened and sat up on the undersized shrew bed where he'd been deposited to recover from his mishap. Searching out Lorr with his eyes, he spotted the bankvole standing amongst the gathered beasts by his bedside. "Lorr, chappie, please tell me ya got th' bally warnin' out t' Captain Tardo an' his gang that that was Snoga out there, an' we didn't let that blighter get away again ... "

The vole looked abashed. "Well, yes, I know you said it was Snoga, yes, but when I looked for myself I just couldn't be sure ... "

"So, he's gone? You let him get away?"

Captain Tardo stepped forward. "Don't take it out on Lorr, friend. He told us what you'd said just as soon as he was able. Unfortunately, whoever it was in that logboat was long gone by then, an' we was rather occupied with fishin' you outta th' river at th' time."

"Bah! Couldn'ta taken more'n a few of you t' look after me. Why didn't you dispatch a squad or two t' go after 'em?"

"Even if'n I was inclined t' go off half-cocked based on th' moonlit glimpse ya had o' that logboat's crew fer a split second, we couldn'ta pursued 'em anyway," Tardo stiffly informed the hare. "All our own logboats got cannibalized t' make furnishin's fer Doublegate ... includin' that bed ye're lyin' in. Since this's t' be our perm'nant garrison, t' guard th' river an' that crazy searat underwater boat, we didn't think we'd have any need fer 'em anymore."

Hanchett tried to stand, but when the room spun and everybeast around him suddenly grew a blurry twin, he allowed the helping paws to push him back onto the bed again. "Ooo, my old headbone's throbbin' like there's a badger workin' on his forge up inside my skull! How long've I been out?"

"Good couple o' hours," answered Lefkus. "An' if that logboat's kept to its speed, it could be halfway to the ocean by this time, so you'll not catch it by runnin' after it now. Just rest up, matey."

Hanchett let his aching head fall back onto his pillow. "What about jolly old Klystra? He's still here, isn't he? Can'tcha send him out after Snoga?"

"Maybe in th' morn," said Tardo. "Falcons ain't bats or owls. Cap'n Klystra's a day bird. He's sleepin' right now, an' I don't see fit t' wake 'im over this."

The Long Patrol hare sighed in frustration. "So Snoga slips through our bally paws once again, huh?"

"If it even was Snoga," said the shrew captain, clearly doubtful. "I mean, why'd he be goin' west, toward where Lord Urthblood's got his greatest strength? An' we know he had four or fivescore shrews left t' him, so why'd he be toolin' around lower Mossflower with less'n a dozen? An' with a rat, too? They attacked Foxguard 'cos they hate vermin, so cozyin' up with a rat's about th' last thing I'd expect 'im t' do!"

"Yeah, that kinda threw me too, at first," Hanchett admitted. "My guess is that rat was his prisoner ... "

"Prisoner, y' say?" scoffed Tardo. "From what I heard 'bout th' battle at Foxguard, Snoga strikes me as th' type to slay first 'n' ask questions later. Can't see him takin' anybeast he doesn't like prisoner."

"It was Snoga," Hanchett repeated stubbornly. "Don't know why he'd be travellin' in such a small group, or headed th' way he was, or keepin' a rat with him, but it bloody well _was_ Snoga. I'd bet my life on it."


	9. Chapter 92

Chapter Ninety-Two

Summer had come to Terramort.

The near-constant winter veil of gray skies and threatening seas had given way to a burning sun under whose blistering gaze nobeast was spared. The seas could still threaten - indeed, the warmer seasons often saw the most savage of storms - but more often than not the waters around this island of death lay becalmed to the point of utter stillness. It was a deceptive placidness, and any goodbeast vessel that inadvertently found itself marooned in these treacherous doldrums was lucky to escape the clutches of the searat ships that routinely patrolled the sea lanes around Terramort.

These days, the approaches to the searat empire were being guarded more thoroughly than ever before. Concerned over what Urthblood might try next, Tratton had ordered no fewer than four of his frigates and galleons to continuously circle Terramort at any given time. These sentry vessels sailed far enough out so that their loot-hungry captains might still waylay unsuspecting traders, but close enough to form a roving cordon around the imperial isle. Each of these lesser warships carried full crews of between one and two hundred bloodthirsty pirate rats, and while they had not all been retrofitted to carry stormpowder and catapults - not yet - Tratton was working hard to correct that situation. Soon every one of his larger ships would be able to deliver the same kind of destruction, if in smaller doses, that had previously been the sole province of his mighty dreadnoughts.

Most of those vessels' captains and officers had recently been replaced by rats more likely to display their loyalty, after the end their predecessors had met in the throne room massacre. Now that it had been made abundantly clear that Urthblood was taking no prisoners in this war and that Tratton would slay anyrat who harbored rebellious thoughts, those new captains could be counted on to fight if the Badger Lord brought the battle out here.

But those frigates and galleons were not the only eyes and ears Tratton had out on the high seas. Working at a frenetic pace under his master's imperative, Clucus the ferret engineer had succeeded in designing a small, swift messenger craft that could skim over the wavetops at twice the speed of any other vessel in Tratton's navy. Once the prototype was successfully tested and proven, construction on the newest dreadnought had been suspended, with all available wood and labor diverted to the building of these new boats.

And now, scarcely half a season later, Tratton had a budding class of over half a dozen of the miniature, fleet craft. That was, in fact, their name - Fleetrunners, the latest class of vessel to be added to Tratton's aggregate of sea power. They were hardly the most formidable of naval vehicles - indeed, next to the dreadnoughts they looked like toys, and were so dwarfed even by the frigates and galleons that those ships would probably not even bother to stop a woodlander vessel of comparable size. But, crewed by Uroza's trained spyrats, their intelligence gathering and swift communications capability made them a vital new part of the searat empire.

Tratton stood upon the wide balcony deck of his royal suite, ruminating upon these developments as he gazed south over the flat, sunlit waters. Up here there was just enough of a breeze to counterbalance the intense warmth of the early summer sun, making this luxury patio a place of idyllic comfort. Tratton savored the smell of the sea in his nostrils, the glowing radiance upon his face, and the gentle wind that rippled his fur. There was no other place he would rather have been at that moment.

It was into this pacific reverie that the great golden eagle intruded.

The giant bird's arrival was an almost surreal moment, coming so without warning or fanfare. Altidor had learned from Urthblood the layout of both island and palace, and thus knew that the paranoid rat ruler allowed few if any of his fellow vermin onto the top floor or roof of his private quarters. Perhaps some of Tratton's ships out at sea had noticed the majestic raptor with its seagull escort winging its way toward Terramort but, lacking birds of their own, had been helpless to send any warning message that could possibly outpace the feathered colossus. Altidor alighted on the balcony railing, mere paces from where Tratton stood, with the casual air of a creature that came and went here all the time. Such was the aura of supreme confidence the commodore eagle radiated.

Tratton froze at the sudden appearance of this incongruous visitor. Froze, that is, except for his sword paw, which strayed at once to the ever-present blade strapped at his side. He saw at a glance that this bird wore a heavy tunic over its breast, which would make it more difficult to slay or wound, but the Searat King stood tensed to draw his sword and defend himself for all he was worth. He knew there was only one warlord whose birds would be wearing such protective raiments.

No attack came, however. Instead, the eagle merely dipped its head toward him and said, "Your Majesty."

"You took a great risk coming here in this manner," Tratton said, striving to maintain his imperial composure. "I am surprised my archers didn't strike you down before you made it this far."

"Maybe if you had some stationed on your roof," the eagle retorted with an ironic tone. "I flew in out of the sun as much as I could ... a practice I always try to follow in uncertain circumstances."

Tratton had never conversed with any species of bird before, and found himself surprised at how well-spoken this one was. Of course, before his disastrous defeat at Salamandastron, he'd largely shared the widely-held searat view that winged creatures were mainly of interest as a food source and little else. He would never fall back into that mindset again.

He risked a glance skyward, but saw no other birds. "You came here all alone?'

"Just two gulls to guide me here. This place is known to them, although they generally give it a wide berth."

"But not this time?"

"Now they have been shown how they may defend themselves, and might not be so shy about visiting your home, bearing gifts from Salamandastron."

"Threats? And would these gifts happen to be flammable oil and burning vitriol?"

"Perhaps even sulfur, carbon and saltpeter."

Tratton stiffened. "How did you ... "

"When you attacked the mountain, the odor of your new weapon - stormpowder, I believe you call it? - hung very strongly on the air around the fortress for several days afterwards. One good sniff, and it was not at all difficult for Lord Urthblood to divine the ingredients of your explosive mixture. And you can be sure he will not hesitate to manufacture batches of it for his own purposes, if he feels forced to do so."

Tratton stared at the eagle in open mortification, his head filled with visions of gull-borne stormpowder bombs raining down on Terramort. Such an attack would surely do his palace far greater damage than any he'd inflicted upon Salamandastron during his abortive assault on the badger stronghold. His seat of power could be reduced to rubble in a matter of hours.

Then the incongruity of the situation struck him. Every move Urthblood had made against him in the past two seasons had been a surprise: first the sneak attack on the lumber mill, then the destruction of the _Sharktail_, which was undoubtedly perpetrated by the gulls but kept a secret so that Urthblood could spring that same strategy a second time on Tratton's unsuspecting attack fleet. So why would this bird now tip the Badger Lord's paw like this? If Urthblood truly had unraveled the formula for the stormpowder and meant to press this war, why was the first Tratton heard of this not the thunderous explosions of the badger's final power play ripping Terramort apart?

"I see I have your attention," said Altidor. "Good. Because I have come here on a mission of diplomacy, not war, and it is important that you hear my words clearly, Your Majesty. I can tell you were just thinking what would happen here if Lord Urthblood attacked you with your own weapon. That does not need ever come to pass ... and it is within your power to prevent it."

"Go on."

"Lord Urthblood wishes to speak with you, at Salamandastron, under a flag of truce. He believes the two of you can come to terms agreeable and advantageous to both sides that will allow this current conflict to be ended without further bloodshed, and perhaps head off all future conflict as well."

"He wants ... me ... to voyage back to Salamandastron? After the treachery he has shown me these past two seasons?"

"It could be argued that his treachery is no greater than your own, Majesty. Lord Urthblood does not keep slaves. He does not attack innocent trader vessels and ransack them, leaving their crews and passengers slain or in chains. He does not venture beyond his realm to establish bases where he is not welcome, slaughtering any local residents who oppose him. His recent moves against you have merely been counteroffensives to your own expansionist tendencies. He may be content to grant you the rule of the high seas, but he will not cede to you the coastlands as well."

"I know Urthblood. And I am well aware that he knows a thing or two about expansionist ambitions himself. Having me out of the way permanently would be most convenient for him. What kind of 'terms' does he have in mind?"

"To find that out, you will have to come to Salamandastron. Your safety at the mountain will be guaranteed, this Lord Urthblood swears."

"He swears it, hm?" Tratton stared at Altidor for several long moments. Why did this feel more like an ultimatum than a diplomatic overture? If Urthblood really did possess the secret of the stormpowder and was willing to pursue this war all the way, a negotiated peace might be the only way out of this for the Searat King. But to trust Urthblood, of all creatures? And even if the Badger Lord was being genuine, how would Tratton's captains react to the idea of their ruler treating with the very enemy who'd inflicted such heavy losses upon them? It would undoubtedly weaken his position within his own realm, unless Urthblood's terms turned out to be generous beyond belief.

"I don't trust him," the rat sovereign said at last. "If he wants to meet with me so badly, he can come here to Terramort, and it will be I who guarantees his safety."

"The summit will take place at Salamandastron or not at all. This I was told to impress upon you."

"And if I decline this ... invitation?"

"The choice is between peace and war, Majesty. With an accord, there is a chance for peace without defeat for either side. Without negotiations, there can only be more war. You know what the result of that would be."

"A compromise, then. I will send one of my highest and most trustworthy captains to negotiate on my behalf. He will be authorized to speak for me and represent the interests of Terramort."

"That may be fine to start, but only you will be able to sign your official approval to the kind of treaty Lord Urthblood has in mind."

"Then perhaps these talks can take place in stages ... initiated by my envoy in the opening phase, then finalized by me once I am satisfied it is in my interest to do so."

"Agreeing to these talks will be in your interest, regardless of the results, Majesty. I am the commander of all Lord Urthblood's birds. You said yourself how risky it was for me to come to you in this manner. My mere presence here is a gesture of trust, and should suggest to you how seriously Lord Urthblood regards this matter."

"I could still have you killed. You would fill up every dinner table on this island, and I have never tasted eagle before ... "

"I have already told you what the result of that would be. If I do not return to Salamandastron bearing the answer my master wishes to hear, the war will continue. Lord Urthblood will resume burning your ships, however far out to sea he must probe to find them. And then, when there are no more ships left, he will come here, and he will not leave Terramort standing."

"So we are back to more threats, eh?"

"Not threats. Merely the reality of the situation, as you well know. You should not have revealed your weapon to Lord Urthblood so that he would recognize it for what it was, nor should you have placed such a large concentration of your forces where they could be lost. These were miscalculations, but they need not be fatal ones. Your next one, however, very well could be. Lord Urthblood demands these negotiations because he is in a position to do so ... a position you helped put him in."

Their private conversation was intruded upon at that moment by a bustle of movement from behind them. Turning, Tratton saw that a number of his personal guardrats had raced up through his private apartments and now stood at the wide entryway leading out to the terrace, spears and blades raised in uncertainty. Tratton held up a paw to stay their advance.

"Hold! This bird has come in peace, and is not to be harmed! And I will have the skin of anyrat who draws so much as a drop of its blood!"

These words had the intended effect; the guards immediately lowered their weapons and backed off a few paces, their nervous and uncertain gazes never leaving the giant golden eagle.

"So," Altidor surmised, "I gather you will not be serving me for dinner after all?"

"When does Urthblood need my reply?" Tratton interjected curtly.

"I can stay here for a day or two, but after that I must depart for Salamandastron." The bird stepped down from the railing and sauntered toward the royal apartments, trying to disguise his slight lameness in one leg with an exaggerated swagger that could be misinterpreted as overconfidence. "Until then, I suppose I will just have to enjoy the hospitality of Terramort. I assume you have some lavish guest quarters where visitors of my standing can make themselves comfortable?"

00000000000

Saugus, being an owl, did not relish flying while the sun was in the sky. But when Lord Urthblood assigned a mission, one did not put it off until a more convenient hour.

And so it was that the Badger Lord's owl captain came to be gliding over the expanses of the lower Western Plains and southern Mossflower that morning on his way to Doublegate, eyes scrunched against the sun's early glare. So focused was Saugus on sparing his sensitive vision the worst of the summer brightness that he almost missed Klystra to the south, winging his way in the opposite direction toward the lower coast. Since that falcon was the very creature Saugus had been dispatched to summon back to Salamandastron, the owl dipped his right wing and veered south to intercept his fellow bird captain.

Klystra, intent upon the lands below and before him, was startled by the other avian's sudden and unexpected appearance, and could not imagine what Saugus was doing here; the news of Snoga's latest sighting could not possibly have reached the mountain fortress yet. Then again, Lord Urthblood's prophetic powers were not to be dismissed out of talon.

"I expected to find you at Doublegate," Saugus said to Klystra as he floated on the thermals alongside the falcon. At least now he faced away from the sun and didn't have it shining in his eyes anymore; thank feathers for small things.

"Hanchett at Doublegate," Klystra explained in his typical clipped manner, "thought he saw Snoga on river last night, so I fly out to investigate."

"Snoga, huh?" Saugus had, along with everybeast else at Salamandastron, heard about the attack on Foxguard half a season before, and of the perpetrator's subsequent vanishment into the wilds of Mossflower, or perhaps even beyond. "Well, if he's travelling with his whole band, he shouldn't be too hard to track down ... "

Klystra shook his head in mid-flight. "One boat, alone."

"One logboat?" Saugus echoed, surprised. Then something else occurred to the owl: he'd encountered Klystra before reaching the shrew fort, and the falcon was flying west. "Snoga was travelling alone, and toward the coast? That makes no sense!"

"Captain Tardo would agree."

"Did he see Snoga too?"

"No."

"Did you?"

"No. Asleep when this happened."

"Well, who _did_ see Snoga?"

"Just Hanchett and Lorr."

"And they're both sure it was Snoga?"

"Lorr uncertain. Hanchett insists it was."

"Well, doesn't Lorr know Snoga better than Hanchett? That vole travelled with the Guosim for some time while Snoga was still a member of that tribe. Hanchett wouldn't have met the shrew until the battle at Foxguard. You'd think if anybeast would have known whether or not it was Snoga, it would be Lorr."

Klystra gave a mid-air shrug, as only an expert flying creature could. "Tardo skeptical, I skeptical too, but thought I would check it out. Why you out this way?"

"Lord Urthblood has dispatched Altidor on a lengthy mission, and is not sure when he will return," the owl said. "In order to keep bird strength up at the mountain in Altidor's absence, I was to recall you back to Salamandastron from Doublegate forthwith."

"Searats threaten anymore?"

"No, but Lord Urthblood does not want to be caught shortwinged in the event of further trouble. But, if you have a lead on Snoga that you want to pursue, I'm sure he will understand ... "

Klystra considered this for a few wingflaps, then shook his head again. "Probably wasn't Snoga at all. Not likely that shrew travelling this way alone, and hares not best with seeing at night. Lord Urthblood says I return to Salamandastron at once, I do that." He gave one last long look at the shimmering landscape spread out below them, then angled his plumage to turn him north toward the badger mountain. "Probably just local shrews out for nighttime paddle. Hanchett been tracking Snoga too long, too hard, starting to see things."

And so the two bird officers aimed themselves northwest to comply with their badger master's bidding. Klystra would never know that if he had continued straight west and a bit to the south for just a little while longer, he might very well have spotted the tiny vessel he sought with its crew of eight shrews and one bound searat, now almost to the mouth of the broadstream it was following and out into the coastal waters.

00000000000

Once they left the river and were out onto the sea itself, Snoga's rat guide directed them to turn south and follow the shoreline.

Midday saw them approaching the objective sought by the renegade shrew leader. This searat base was not nearly as large as the lumber mill destroyed by Urthblood the previous winter; indeed, were it not for the short, low dock protruding into the sea just beyond the breakers, most ships might easily pass this modest cluster of buildings by without even noticing them. Then again, since most of the work here went on below ground, it wasn't necessary to maintain a high profile on the surface.

Snoga ordered their logboat beached just north of the searat camp and disembarked with relief, eager to stretch his legs and work out his muscle kinks after spending so much time on the water without a break. "Was beginnin' t' think you was takin' us all th' way to Southsward!" he grumbled to his prisoner as he took a few shaky steps across the sand to get his land legs back.

"We're 'bout halfway there, master," the searat meekly informed him, using the form of address Snoga had insisted upon under pain of further physical abuse. Raising his good paw to point inland, the rat said, "That way's th' wastelands that lie 'tween lower Mossflower an' Southsward. These used t' be toadlands here, but once we got them warty hoppers cleared out we had this coast to ourselves. No goodbeast settlements fer more'n a day's march in any direction, so we don't hafta worry 'bout any intruders here."

He turned and pointed seaward. "An' out there somewhere's th' great maelstrom whirlpool of th' Roaringburn, that'll suck even th' mightiest o' ships straight down to th' seabottom! Captains who know about it know t' stay clear, an' those who don't oft aren't heard from again! So that puts us 'tween two dead zones 'ere, one on land an' one at sea. Kinda discourages visitors ... "

"Well, it ain't discouraged me none! Now, I didn't untie yer bonds so you could give us a sightseein' tour! Get movin'!" Snoga drew his searat sword and pressed the point into the small of his captive's back. "An' remember, any treachery an' you'll be th' first to die!"

"Yes, master ... "

With the bedraggled searat leading the way and the wary, paws-on-hilts shrews urging him forward, their negotiating party made no effort to hide themselves as they strode boldly into the midst of Tratton's mining camp.

00000000000

Gormillion, the manager of this mining site, sat in his office going over the recent production charts and testing ore samples for their purity. He knew well his sealord's insatiable appetite for metals, and he knew also that Tratton's demand for ores was only likely to increase given the destruction of the _Scorpiontail_ and the _Sharktail_ during the winter. Almost certainly a greater reliance would be placed on steel ships as a result of these losses. Gormillion had learned of these attacks from the cargo frigate that had picked up his early spring quota of raw ore, and he knew Tratton planned some grand retaliation against Urthblood for this bold transgression. But he had no idea that this counterstrike had already unfolded, resulting in Tratton's disastrous defeat at Salamandastron and the subsequent attempted captains' revolt on Terramort. Down here, most of the way toward Southsward, such news was often slow to arrive.

Summer having just started, Gormillion expected another hauler frigate to arrive any day now to bear his current ore stocks back to Terramort. This load would, regrettably, not be as large as the previous one; a tunnel collapse and the resulting deaths of several slaves and rats had set him behind schedule for the first time in his management career. He hoped the Searat King would be understanding enough to send him replacement slaves and workers instead of a replacement manager to relieve Gormillion while he was dragged back to Terramort in chains to receive some unimaginable punishment. He also hoped the next ship to arrive might be carrying the extra warriors he'd requested in light of Urthblood's attack on the lumber mill. Gormillion had enough to worry about without the spectre of that ruthless badger hanging over him.

As he sat behind his desk, tallying and analyzing and mildly fretting, one of his underlings announced himself with a short knock and stuck his head inside the office door. "Sir, y' gotta come see this!"

"What is it, Wishart?"

"A bunch o' armed shrews jus' marched inta th' middle o' the compound, demandin' t' speak to th' rat in charge."

Gormillion straightened in his chair; only one beast he could think of would be so bold as to send his fighters strolling right into the heart of an enemy position. Was his greatest fear about to be realized? "Do ... do they look like they could be Urthblood's beasts?"

Wishart shrugged. "Dunno what Urthblood's troops're s'posed t' look like, sir, but this gang seems t' be alone. And, uh ... they got a rat fer a hostage too ... "

"A rat hostage?" Gormillion repeated as he rose from his chair. "One o' ours?"

"No ... an' that's th' thing. I could swear it's one o' Spymaster Uroza's rats."

"One of ... Uroza's ... ?" This situation was rapidly making less and less sense. The mine manager came out from behind his desk and headed toward the door. "Guess I'd better go see what this is all about. But, uh, bring up extra guards from th' mine shafts, will ya? Don't wanna leave ourselves shortpawed in case this lot means trouble ... "

00000000000

Snoga was getting nervous. His team of eight shrews now stood surrounded by at least three times that many searats, all of them armed, with indications that more might be on the way. The leader of this camp had yet to show himself, and Snoga was beginning to wonder whether the searats' strategy was to tire him out under the bright summer sun and then charge the shrews en masse to overwhelm them. Snoga knew when he conceived it that this plan carried considerable risk, but he wasn't ready to admit defeat yet. Far from it.

Holding his searat sword up across his prisoner's throat, he yelled out, "If I don't see yer chief in twenty heartbeats, I'm leavin', an' woe to anyrat who tries t' stop us - startin' with _this_ one!"

"Awright, awright, keep yer shirt on, bossytail!" The crowd of searats parted, and Gormillion stepped forward to face Snoga across a span of a dozen paces. The husky, official-looking rat placed his paws on his hips as he regarded the shrews. "I'm th' manager o' this place. Whatcher want?"

Snoga grinned; now he was getting somewhere! "Lookin' to make a deal. You got somethin' I want, I got somethin' you want ... "

"So I sees," Gormillion said dourly. "But if ye're lookin' fer anything more'n a quick death, y' shoulda brought more than just one hostage."

"What, this?" Snoga waved his blade in front of his captive's face. "This was just t' get yer attention. I got lots more t' offer than this 'ere sorry sack o' bones!"

"Such as?"

"Such as sumpthin' that'll make yer rat king real happy."

"An' what're you askin' in return?"

"An alliance," said Snoga. "Yer rats an' my shrews, workin' t'gether 'gainst Urthblood."

Gormillion stood dumbfounded. He lacked the authority to make such an alliance on behalf of the searat empire or King Tratton, but even if he was inclined to work out such an arrangement for himself on a purely local level, it would still be unprecedented. For many seasons now, the searats had merely taken whatever and whomever they wanted, wherever they wanted. An alliance between the searats and their potential slaves had never even remotely entered the picture.

Of course, with Urthblood's recent move against Tratton and the prospects for an all-out war looming, the picture might have changed to the point where such an alliance might, for the first time, be desirable. But something about this scenario nagged at Gormillion's mind.

"Why'd shrews like you be against Urthblood?" he asked Snoga.

"'Cos that badger's tryin' t' take what ain't his! He's got his big ol' mountain on th' coast north o' here t' call home, he don't need more'n that! Mossflower's ours, not his! An' if he thinks he can just bring down all his pushy Northlanders t' take over th' place, then he's gotta expect us t' do whatever it takes t' protect our homes an' our way of life!"

Gormillion was most surprised that such bitter divisions could exist between woodlanders. Even if nothing came of this alliance, this was information Spymaster Uroza - and King Tratton - would need to know.

"Whatever it takes, huh? Even if it means workin' with th' likes of us, shrew?"

"You ain't no threat t' Mossflower. Urthblood is. This way, we each get what we want. I heard you searats might be lookin' fer a li'l payback after all th' trouble that big red brute's caused ya ... "

"Oh, you heard 'bout that?" Gormillion refrained from informing Snoga that such payback might very well already have been given, if the rumors he'd heard about a retaliatory strike by Tratton had come to fruition. "So, this is what you got t' offer? An alliance?"

"Partly. But if you agree to it, an' gimme access t' some o' these new weapons o' yers, I can offer somethin' in return I know yer king ain't gonna refuse."

"Go on."

"Last summer, one o' yer boats went missin' - an iron boat, that runs underwater."

Every rat around Snoga pricked up its ears; there wasn't a searat in Tratton's service who didn't know about the prototype submarine that had vanished during its trial mission. The prevailing wisdom was that it had been lost at sea and would never be heard from again.

"I know where it is," said Snoga. "Give me what I want, an' I'll get it for you!"


	10. Chapter 93

Chapter Ninety-Three

"Run," Urthblood told the rat.

The terrified vermin glanced from the face of the badger to Mattoon and back again; both Urthblood and his weasel captain wore expressions of cold expectancy. The half-dozen rat and weasel guards behind them displayed an equal lack of mirth. The searat prisoner didn't know what his captors had planned for him, but he knew there would be no escaping it.

"Didn't y' hear 'is Lord?" Mattoon growled at the searat. "He said run. So ... run!"

Taking off like a swarm of angry hornets was on his tail, the searat went into a frantic, stumbling sprint away from the merciless badger and his grim soldiers, north along the coastal plain and veering slightly up toward the foothills to his right.

Their group had left Salamandastron at daybreak, marching north until midmorning. Urthblood wanted to conduct this field test where Matowick and the other woodland captains would not be likely to witness it, accidentally or otherwise.

Urthblood, Mattoon and two of the soldiers guarded the searat during the brief journey; the other four troops were kept occupied with the large glass containers they bore, hourglass-shaped like the clay Flitchaye gas vessels. Urthblood's instructions to the carriers before departing from the mountain had been chillingly simple: "If you drop any of them and they should happen to break, run away as fast as you can if you wish to live."

Those fragile containers now rested on the soft sand before Captain Scarbatta and his trio of fellow gulls. All four birds wore the carrying harnesses for bearing these new weapons. Urthblood had stopped their procession in an area where patches of exposed rock and harder packed soil alternated with the yielding sand. It was terrain the Badger Lord deemed ideal for this trial.

"Um ... how big a head start are we gonna give 'im, Lord?" Mattoon ventured as he watched the fleeing rat dart up into the higher ground.

"Be at ease, Captain. There are no trees or gullies in which he can hide himself out here. Our winged warriors will be able to spot him easily from the air. Trust me, we will not want to be too close to those vessels when they fall."

Urthblood turned to Scarbatta. "All right, Captain, this is your moment. Take up these vessels and deliver them as you have been trained. But have a care. We don't want any accidents after coming all this way."

Each of the seagull bombadiers claimed a glass vessel for itself, then took to the skies after the departed searat with their lethal payloads slung under them.

Moments later, the four vessels fell from high in the sky to land all around the panicked searat. Three expanding clouds of sulfurous yellow rose from the impact zone.

"Looks like one of 'em didn't burst right, Lord. Must've hit a soft spot on th' ground." Mattoon's gaze shifted to the searat who emerged from the caustic mist, coughing but still running for all he was worth. "Looks like we didn't get him, neither."

"Give it time, Captain. The way he is exerting himself, he must be breathing very hard. If he sucked in enough of those vapors before getting clear of them ... "

But the searat kept on running, until he was completely lost to sight amid the foothills.

If Urthblood was disappointed to any great degree, he didn't show it. "I suspected this might not be as effective against a solitary beast on open terrain as it was in a confined space ... "

"So, are y' gonna stop developin' this stuff?" Mattoon asked hopefully; there was an unsavory aspect to working with such poisons as this, something that unsettled the weasel in a way that the Flitchaye gas, fire globes and even the vitriol did not.

"No, it would still have great potential against massed troop concentrations, dispersing them and inflicting both high casualties and confusion. And it would be brutal on crews confined aboard a ship ... "

"Oh. So, what about that searat, sir? Are we just gonna let 'im get away?"

"I am sure Captain Scarbatta and his gulls will take care of him," Urthblood said, and turned to trudge his heavy way back toward Salamandastron.

00000000000

When the cargo frigate finally arrived at Gormillion's mining camp, she was accompanied by a most unexpected escort.

At first the mine manager and his staff rats didn't know what to make of the tiny craft that beached itself on the tideline even as the frigate moored fast to the short pier. It was unlike any searat vessel they'd ever seen, looking for all the world like an oversized, enclosed canoe with a single tall mast and just enough room belowdecks to house a crew of half a dozen, at most. That it was in fact a ship of Tratton's imperial fleet there was no doubt; the oversized sail boldly proclaimed this with its display of red, black and green. But the sleek boat, almost needle-like when viewed prow-on, was no class of searat craft Gormillion recognized.

When rats wearing the uniforms and insignia of Spymaster Uroza's bureau emerged from the curious skiff, however, Gormillion knew that this was serious business.

Kothar disembarked from _Fleetrunner Three_ and strode imperiously up the sand toward the mining rats who'd turned out to gawk at the new craft. The spy captain's sharp and appraising eye quickly picked out the manager by his slightly finer, cleaner garb, his less worn aspect and his vaguely superior demeanor. That air of superiority rapidly drained out of the camp director's face and stance as the lean yet imposing spyrat stepped right up to Gormillion.

"C-Cap'n," the land-based rat stammered, unsure what to make of this turn of events. Even Uroza's lowliest operatives were to be respected and feared, since Uroza had the ear of King Tratton directly. Most rats in the maritime empire considered it a good day when they could avoid crossing paths with any of these intelligence agents. "Wh-what brings you here, sir?"

"Gormillion, isn't it?"

"Um, aye, that I am. Did y' have a good voyage? Here, lemme take you up t' my office where I can give you a comfortable seat an' a decent bite t' eat too. Got some blackberry rum I can uncork in yer honor, if'n ye're so inclined ... "

"Sounds tempting. That's most hospitable of you, Director."

"Yah, well, anything I can do fer th' Bureau ... " Gormillion threw a glance over his shoulder at the aerodynamic Fleetrunner as he escorted Kothar up the beach toward his residence. "Didn't expect t' be receivin' a personage of yer importance, y' unnerstand. An' that's a mighty int'restin' ship you arrived in. Ain't seen naught like it afore ... "

"It's new," Kothar nodded. "A great deal is new, in fact. Let us retire to your ... chambers ... for I have much to tell you."

00000000000

Gormillion listened with wide eyes to Kothar's accounts of the battle at Salamandastron, including the destruction of the four dreadnoughts by the seagull-borne incendiary weapons, and the resulting rebellion by Tratton's captains, which had led to their deaths and replacement by more loyal officers.

"By th' fang!" Gormillion declared. "His Majesty was lucky t' get outta that battle with his life! An' as fer all them scurvy traitors, why, they got just what they deserved!" He shook his head. "An' t' think all this's been goin' on, an' here we been sittin' down 'ere without a clue 'bout any of it!"

"That's what th' Fleetrunners're for," said Kothar. "Speediest things on th' seas nowadays, 'cept for flyin' fish! Should give us an edge at relaying communications 'tween our camps, bases an' outposts that we never had before. Still not as swift as Urthblood's damnable birds, true, but better'n anything we had before."

Kothar shifted in his chair, leaning across the desk toward Gormillion. "I am sure you can appreciate, Director," he said, dropping back into his more formal and businesslike speech patterns, "how His Majesty is looking to you and the other mine operations now. Our wood vessels have been shown to be utterly vulnerable to Urthblood's new methods of warfare. King Tratton wants - no, he needs - more ironclads and ships made entirely of metal, that won't burn if that badger tries his tricks on 'em. And that means more ore from your shafts. Much more."

Gormillion nervously pawed at his brandy glass. So far, their discussion had been dominated by Kothar's news dispatches, and the mine manager had yet to appraise the spy of his seasonal quota or any of the other recent events at the site.

"Um, there is one slight hitch there, y' see. Our ore quota's gonna be a little short this time 'round ... "

"Oh?" Kothar's eyes narrowed dangerously. "This is woefully bad timing on your part to be experiencing underproduction."

"Ye're tellin' me. Naught I could do about it, though. Part o' one mine caved in - lost a buncha workers, slaves an' rats both, an' lost time too gettin' it opened back up again. Now, if you could use yer influence t' convince His Majesty t' send me replacement slaves an' workers, I can almost guarantee that this time next season I'll be back up to quota. Gimme enuff, an' I'll dig out extra t' make up fer this season's shortfall, an' mebbe a little more on top o' that ... "

"That's good," Kothar grinned with a hint of menace, "'cos as of now your quota's doubled. That's the main thing I was sent here to inform you."

"D-doubled? But ... but ... "

The intelligence officer raised a paw to forestall Gormillion's fit of apoplexy. "Don't panic yet. King Tratton would not make wholly unreasonable demands upon his managers. The frigate out there didn't come to your harbor with an empty hold. Before it leaves with your season's ore allotment, she'll be makin' a deposit. Those extra slaves 'n' workers you just asked for are already here, along with a squad of fighters t' reinforce your defenses here. After what happened up north, His Majesty's makin' efforts to bolster the security at all his mainland camps and bases."

Gormillion mulled this over. Even with more slaves and workers, he would be hard pressed indeed to double his output. And then there was the matter of the missed quota for this season. With these faster dispatch boats, word of his failure to meet his schedule would literally reach Terramort far ahead of the light load itself, and he might easily find himself replaced long before he had the chance to properly redeem himself and get back in Tratton's good graces. He needed something more that he could give Kothar now to buy himself a little more wiggle room.

And Kothar's mention of iron ships gave Gormillion an idea on just what the currency of his survival would be.

"Speakin' o' metal ships," the mine manager ventured hesitantly, "did anybeast ever figger out what happened to that iron fish that went missin' last summer?"

"It was one of the earlier prototypes," Kothar replied. "Must not have had all the bugs worked out of it. We can only assume it was lost at sea - rough waters, or mechanical malfunction ... "

"Sure o' that?"

Kothar studied Gormillion, sensing for the first time that the other rat was not merely making idle conversation on this topic. "No ... nobeast knows for sure. Unless you know something you're not tellin' me."

Gormillion gave an inward sigh of relief. Kothar wasn't even trying to hide his interest in this subject. Now if only that shrew had been telling the truth ...

"Tell me, would you happen t' know what some o' Minister Uroza's rats might've been doin' nosin' 'round south Mossflower recently?" Gormillion asked, changing the subject - at least on the face of it.

"Infiltration and reconnaissance project," Kothar answered, stony-faced. "In response to Urthblood's moves against us. Why? You happen to cross paths with any of 'em?"

"Well, that's th' funniest thing," Gormillion said. "Lemme tell you what went on here four days ago ... "

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Snoga was surprised he was still alive.

It was all the stupid fault of those damned rats, of course. Their leader had played Snoga false from his very first word, feigning interest in the shrew's proposed alliance while building up his encircling forces. Then, casting aside all pretense of diplomacy, that treacherous seascum ordered his forces to attack and overwhelm the True Guosim delegation, even though he must have realized that would doom the hostage Snoga held and ensure the deaths of some of his own fighters in the melee.

Snoga scratched gingerly around his sliced ear, just one of the numerous stitched and bandaged wounds he'd incurred as a result of this whole affair. The searat healers had done a fairly decent job of patching him up after that fracas, he had to admit, even if it was only to keep him alive so they could torture information out of him. A chill ran down Snoga's spine and a sour nervousness touched his stomach as he wondered how closely the searats' interrogation techniques might mirror his own.

Locked in this dark, clammy, stifling stone chamber all alone to nurse his injuries and contemplate the unpleasant possibilities that lay in store for him, Snoga nevertheless felt a satisfied sense of gloating. He'd known how risky it would be to approach these seavermin with such demands and bravado, but if he'd shown any weakness at all this gambit would not have stood a chance of success. The searats had to understand Snoga would only deal with them on equal footing, as a full-fledged partner and not some lackey. Well, they had spurned the shrew chieftain's advance, but it had cost them the lives of the hostage - Snoga made sure that wretch was the first to die - and at least half a dozen of the other rats as well. Snoga didn't know whether any other members of his expedition might still be alive, for he'd been held in isolation since regaining consciousness, although he was sure he'd seen Febus and two of his other companions go down with what were surely mortal wounds.

In fact, Snoga almost hoped he alone from his team had survived. Not only might this incline his captors to treat him with greater respect in order to coax from him what they needed, but if they did resort to less pleasant methods of information extraction, Snoga was determined to spite them by biting off his own tongue and spitting the blood into their ugly faces. He'd seen other creatures do that, so he knew it was possible, and he was convinced he could bring himself to do it too if forced to it. Just let them try to make him talk then!

It never occurred to Snoga, through his veil of persecuted indignation, that Gormillion might have been perfectly genuine in his interest, and only resorted to violence when Snoga began hysterically demanding that the mine manager produce a sample of the stormpowder at once and arrange a demonstration right there on the beach before he released the hostage spyrat and entered into more formal negotiations. That this mine site did not, in truth, stock any of the explosive compound seemed less likely to Snoga than the notion that Gormillion was simply jerking him around and stalling for time. And when, in the face of Snoga's increasingly violent bluster, the camp director had at last confessed he did not have the authority to approve any alliance with the shrews that would guarantee delivery of the stormpowder into Snoga's paws, the belligerent shrew leader wasn't buying that either, and only grew more agitated. In the end, nobeast on either side could have said precisely who had struck the first blow. The shrews, stirred to a near-frenzy by their chief's screaming and shouting, were convinced they were about to be attacked at any moment by the rats surrounding them ... and perhaps they were, for the searats were also keyed up to a fever pitch of hair-trigger nervousness by Snoga's threatening display. All that mattered now was that the standoff had ended in bloodshed, with loss of life on both sides and Snoga a prisoner.

Now, four days later - although Snoga did not know this, due to his periods of unconsciousness and the lightless underground chamber in which he was confined - the lock to his cell door clicked, and harsh lamplight stabbed at his dark-acclimated eyes as the door swung open. Squinting into the sudden glare, the shrew made out two imposing rat figures framed in the open portal. With a few pained blinks, he was able to recognize the mine manager as one of them, but the other was unfamiliar. The second searat had a sinister air about him, and wore some kind of quasi-uniform that distinguished him as an officer. None of the searats Snoga had seen during his initial confrontation had worn any such garments, not even the one who'd claimed to be in charge.

Gormillion stood deferentially aside to allow Kothar a thorough inspection of their prisoner. "So, this is their leader?" the spyrat sneered. "Not much to look at, is he?"

"That he wasn't, not even 'fore he went an' picked a fight with ev'ry rat in my camp," Gormillion agreed. "Scrappy liddle feller, him 'n' his crew, I'll give 'em that. Slew five o' my best guards 'fore we could kill four of 'em an' bring the other four down."

Snoga held his silence as he mentally processed this information. So three of his comrades might still be alive ... This could work against him, or to his favor, depending on how things played out.

Kothar squatted down before Snoga, staring the shrew in the eye. "I understand you came here with a proposition in mind. Unfortunately, you asked the wrong rat for an alliance."

"An' who're you?" Snoga asked caustically.

"I'm th' beast who can give you what you sought," the intelligence officer replied. "If you're still interested, that is ... "

"Why should I trust any o' you, after th' way we been treated?" Snoga demanded.

"Because what's left of your life is very much in our paws." Kothar glanced up at Gormillion. "I see what you mean about this one, Director. Pugnacious indeed."

"We can't enter inta an alliance with this beast," Gormillion said, hoping the spyrat would not beg to differ. "He's too ... unstable. We'd never be able t' trust him, or depend on 'im."

Kothar returned his piercing gaze to Snoga. "Do you hear that? My opposite number here thinks you are not trustworthy. How shall we go about proving him wrong?"

"Gimme what I want, an' I'll make ya glad you did."

"Now what enemy could a tribe of shrews possibly have that they'd need the kind of weapons you're asking for?"

"Either ye're dense, or else yer partner there ain't toldja squat. Urthblood's my enemy, same as yers!"

"Very well. Assumin' I take you at your word on that, there's still the matter of somethin' that belongs to us - somethin' you claimed you could get back for us. What has that to do with your feud with the badger?"

"'Cos Urthblood's th' one that's got it! But don'tcha worry - I know I c'n get yer precious iron boat back fer you. Just gimme what I'm askin' fer, an' you won't hafta look at my rude face 'til I bring yer steel tub sailin' down that river an' right here t' yer door!"

"Ah. So I am just to give you a few kegs of our stormpowder and then let you go on your merry way?"

"I'll need more'n a few kegs fer what I got in mind, but yah, that'll do ... "

"Hardly what I'd call an alliance," Kothar mused. "How do I know you won't simply take our property for yourself and vanish into Mossflower with it?"

Snoga studied this new, well-spoken rat. He was not like any searat the shrew had ever heard of, or imagined. Snoga sensed that this one possessed hidden depths, and would not be so self-assured in his manner unless he had the authority among his kind to back it up. Why couldn't this superior searat have been here days ago when Snoga had first arrived? Of course the plan Kothar had just outlined was exactly what Snoga had had in mind; if he could get his paws on the rats' submarine and kill a few of Urthblood's shrews in the process - or even more than a few - why should he surrender this prize to its despicable creators? Imagine the acclaim he would receive from Tasnuva and the rest of his recent woodland allies if he showed up at the big inland lake in that fantastic contraption! It would elevate his status in a way that a victory at Foxguard would have, and cement his unquestioned leadership over his current forces. Nobeast would dare challenge or gainsay him then!

Snoga gave Kothar a fang-bared grin. "Aw, allies don't do things like that t' each other!"

Kothar considered this response, nodding slowly. "No. Of course they don't. Now, before I can consider expending the kinds of resources you're talking about, I need to know you're not just tellin' fables in the air. Describe this craft, so that I know you've actually seen it."

Snoga had no problem doing so; he'd been present the summer before when Urthblood had captured the sub, and his memory of the strange vehicle was still quite clear.

Satisfied, Kothar gestured for Snoga to stand and accompany them out of the dank chamber. "Come, let's see if we can find you accommodations more befitting an ally of King Tratton's empire ... and then we can discuss more fully how you can help us get our property back."


	11. Chapter 94

Chapter Ninety-Four

Captain Kirkirt of the battle galleon _Keelfang_ had not expected to see any other searat ships in these southern waters, much less the messenger Fleetrunner that flagged him down now.

Kirkirt was a young captain, one of many in Tratton's fleet who'd been elevated to that position in the wake of the ill-fated rebellion at Terramort. This was his first time plying the waters of the Roaringburn around the maelstrom whirlpool since his unexpected promotion. The course he followed wasn't truly hazardous, not for sailors who knew what they were doing. This symbolic initiation rite was expected of all new captains, sailing the fast ocean stream to within sight of the rotating death trap and then veering out of the swift currents to calmer parts before venturing past the point of no return. Kirkirt had been through this twice before as a crew member under two other captains, and knew the drill from personal experience. Still, it was very different when you were the one giving the orders, knowing that so many lives and the very existence of your ship depended upon your timing.

The trick, of course, was to get as close to the vast whirlpool as possible before abandoning the Roaringburn. Wait too long, and only the most death-defying of maneuvers would let the vessel catch the outer rim of the maelstrom to be spun clear and avoid annihilation in the deepest of ocean graves. Leave too soon, and word would spread through the fleet that perhaps this captain didn't have what it takes to carry that rank. All in whispers, of course, since it would be most regrettable to be caught speaking ill of a commanding officer. But a captain who hadn't earned the respect of his crew worked with one paw tied behind his back, and Kirkirt was not so green that he didn't appreciate this fact.

These days, with so many new captains in the searat navy, these particular sea lanes were seeing far more traffic than usual. So when Kothar sailed his Fleetrunner Three out to the edge of the Roaringburn to snag a frigate or galleon that might be carrying what he needed, he was confident he would not have to wait too long for one to appear.

The presence of the tiny spy vessel proved a distraction that nearly cost Kirkirt and the _Keelfang_ everything. The lookout in the crow's nest, Kirkirt's most trustworthy and sharpest-eyed sentry, should have been applying his undivided attention to the giant whirlpool ahead of them. But when the Fleetrunner appeared on their port side, anchored in the coastal waters outside the Roaringburn, the lookout's focus was split. Seafaring beasts only ignored the maelstrom at their peril - but rats in Tratton's service ignored Uroza's agents under pain of torture, demotion, imprisonment or even death. It was a quandary no searat would ever wish to have visited upon it.

Glancing frantically from the looming whirlpool to the signaling spy craft and back again, the lookout yelled down to his waiting captain, "Fleetrunner, to port! They're wavin' us to 'em, Cap'n!"

This message was relayed by other rigging rats positioned halfway up the masts, so that the information would not be garbled. Scowling at this bad timing, Kirkirt glanced landward toward the small vessel. "Yeah, I see it!" he growled, although in truth this was just barely so; the _Keelfang_ carried no long glasses, which meant her crew had to rely solely on naked-eye observations, and Kothar's Fleetrunner lay at the limits of that vision for those rats down on the galleon's deck.

"Should we turn t' meet it?" Kirkirt's first mate inquired. "'Tis one o' Spymaster Uroza's craft, after all ... "

Kirkirt gnashed his teeth. Yes, it was one of the intelligence chief's crews requesting his immediate attention ... but it was also one more set of eyes to witness his initiation test here, this rite of passage that would seal his ascension to this captaincy. This made it all the more important that he not fail or come up short. A less ambitious captain might have seized upon the spy ship's summons as an excuse to cut short his run at the maelstrom, but Kirkirt took it just the opposite way.

"Hold 'er steady!" he bellowed. "Helmsrat, stay t' yer course!"

Several of the crewrats around him traded glances that ranged from puzzled to worried, but none dared question or challenge their captain at this crucial moment.

Except for the lookout up top. Realizing the galleon beneath him wasn't turning to exit the Roaringburn, he shouted down again, "Fleetrunner t' port! Fleetrunner t' port! They're signalin' fer us t' go to 'em!"

"They can wait!" Kirkirt shouted back. "They ain't goin' nowhere! Jus' keep yer eyes on that whirlpool! You know th' signs t' look fer - when we get three ship-lengths from that death well, shout out fer all ye're worth, an' leave th' rest to me!"

The lookout blanched as these orders were relayed up to him, nodding his understanding and sparing any verbal acknowledgement. He raised his head to study the revolving monster that lay in their path, all thoughts of the small spy craft vying for their attention banished from his mind for the moment.

The short interval of time that followed seemed to stretch out for an eternity to the anxious crewrats, and yet when the moment of decision came upon them at last it seemed to have arrived in an instant. With every heartbeat, the roaring of the maelstrom grew more ferocious in their ears, until many worried that the lookout's crucial cry to turn aside might be drowned out by the oceanic tumult. Any delay between the initial warning and the helmsrat acting upon it could make the difference between survival and destruction. They rode a knife edge that grew narrower with each passing moment, and if they tempted fate too flagrantly, fate would crush them in her merciless jaws.

And then it was time. "Three lengths!" the lookout yelled down. "Three lengths! Turn! Turn!"

Instead of ordering the rat at the wheel to bring them out of the Roaringburn the moment he received the lookout's warning, Kirkirt deliberately ticked off a count of five on one paw. He'd been through this routine before as a junior officer under other captains, and he knew that the lookouts always gave their final call a little bit prematurely. No self-respecting new captain undergoing this ritual would be content to go strictly by the word from the crow's nest. Success or failure in this trial was measured by how long after the last moment the captain would dare to go and still save the ship and his crew.

"Turn! Turn! Turn!" the lookout screamed down in desperation, fearing his alarm may indeed have gone unheard by his superior.

"'ee's sayin' t' turn, Cap'n!" the first mate echoed in near panic.

Kirkirt finished his painstaking count to five, then snapped at the helmsrat, "Hard to port! Hard to port, with ev'rything you've got!"

The steersrat obeyed as if he were an extension of his captain's will, slapping at the wheel so fast that it spun in a blur. The _Keelfang_ responded to his practiced paw like a seasoned bedmate, prow swinging to the left to carry the galleon out of the Roaringburn and east toward the far-distant mainland. A few anxious moments came when, even after they were turned about and fully pointed east, the relentless currents of the Roaringburn appeared to be pushing them sideways and it seemed the yawning maw of the voracious whirlpool might yet swallow them. But then the trimmed sails caught the wind and the oarslaves down in the rowing galley responded to their master's whip, and the imperiled war galleon shot free of the maelstrom-bound ocean stream into the gentle swells of the calmer main.

Every rat aboard the _Keelfang_ visibly showed their relief and exultation over their narrow escape, some with whoops and laughter and little jigs of celebration while others contented themselves with gusty sighs of release or pats on their crewmates' backs or just stupid smiles at the joy of still being alive. Kirkirt oversaw this happy pandemonium with a broad grin that was anything but foolish.

"Helm, take us to meet that Fleetrunner!" he commanded with the full heartiness of his newly-proven authority. "Let's see what it is they wanna talk t' us about so badly!"

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Galleon and Fleetrunner were soon tied together side-by-side on the open main. The larger warship may have positively dwarfed the tiny spy craft, but in terms of ultimate authority it was Uroza's rats who held sway here, just as they had back at Gormillion's camp.

Kothar climbed aboard the _Keelfang_ and wasted no time in searching out Kirkirt. "That was an impressive display of bravado, Captain. Almost enough to justify disregarding my summons for you to rendezvous with us at once."

"Aw, we're here, ain't we?" Kirkirt said, trying to minimize this delay.

"But you very nearly weren't. You cut things awfully close out there. If you'd miscalculated and gone to the sea bottom, I would have been left no choice but to await the next galleon or frigate to pass this way, and hope her captain was not as foolhardy as you. Such a delay would have been unacceptable. I am not out here without reason, Captain."

"Then mebbe you shoulda picked a diff'rent spot, friend. Any searat ship ridin' th' Roarin'burn south this way's got more on her mind than stoppin' fer a chat."

Kothar stepped around the captain to admire the major weapons on display amidships on the main deck. "I see you've had a couple of catapults installed. I take it that means you're also carrying stocks of the stormpowder?"

"Aye," Kirkirt nodded, "King Tratton's orders - ev'ry galleon an' frigate's gotta carry that accursed stuff now. You oughtta know that, bein' in Uroza's bureau - you spyrats know ev'rythin'. Just hope it don't blow up me lovely ship ... "

"Maybe I could arrange to take it off your paws for you, and make us both happy. How much are you carrying?"

"Enuff t' do serious damage t' any enemy we're likely t' run afoul of, exceptin' mebbe Urthblood 'imself. Surely 'nuff t' blast th' _Keelfang_ clear outta th' sea an' prob'ly halfway to Mossflower!"

"Then it should be enough for my purposes." Kothar eyed the pair of catapults appraisingly. "An' seein' those gives me some ideas too. If you'll be giving me all your stormpowder, you'll not have much need for the means of launchin' it. Captain, your timing was most fortuitous. Of all the captains in His Majesty's navy, you shall have the honor of assisting in our first major strike at Urthblood since the battle at Salamandastron!"

00000000000

Hanchett was getting frustrated ... again.

True to his word, the hare departed Doublegate the morning after he'd sighted Snoga, eager to both be away from the insufferable Northland shrews who clearly doubted the veracity of his report and to resume his single-minded pursuit of the fugitive shrew leader. At first light he packed up his supplies, roused Lorr to give the flighty bankvole a fond farewell, then set off east along the streambank, following the last known course of his foe.

In keeping with this renewal of his quest for vengeance, Klystra agreed to reteam with Hanchett, scouting the way ahead from the air for any visual clue of Snoga. Since the verminous shrew had been headed in a direction that would soon carry him out of the thicker woods into more open terrain, there was a very good chance that the falcon would have success along these lines.

That had been five days ago, and there had been no sign of either Snoga nor Klystra since.

Hanchett felt he'd gone as far west as he could, since he was beginning to catch sparkling glimpses of the shimmering sea from some of the higher hillocks and rises out on these rolling plains. He knew Salamandastron lay far to the north, but still he harbored reservations about venturing out into territory where there was a greater chance of running into more of Urthblood's forces, or perhaps even the badger himself. And then there were the searats to consider as well; by all accounts, any stretches of the coastlands not under Urthblood's dominion were as likely as not to be crawling with the seavermin, and that was one battle Hanchett would just as soon avoid at the moment. Besides, if Snoga really had come this far west and kept on going, that shrew was as good as gone as far as the hare was concerned.

"Pah!" he snorted, standing out on the wide plains under the hot summer sun. "Followed this bloomin' river 'bout as far as I can without ending up in the bally brine, an' my feathered fellow's gone an' abandoned me! Hope he didn't catch up to Snoga an' grab all th' glory for himself, wot? If he was gonna deprive me of my prize, he at least coulda had the decency t' let me know, so I can save m'self th' trouble an' toil of chasin' a beast who's already been caught ... "

Hanchett sat down on the dry ground to take a sparse lunch while he contemplated the wide waterflow before him and what his next move should be. "Hm ... can't swim across, don't have a boat t' row across, an' I ain't seen any ferrybeast who could do th' job for me. Don't make sense that Snoga would've gone ashore anywhere on this side o' the river, since he'd wanna keep his blinkin' distance from Urthblood as much as he could. Then again, doesn't make much sense that he'd o' come this way in th' first place ... "

Glancing east the way he'd come, Hanchett considered retracing his footsteps. "S'pose I could head back t' Doublegate. 'Course, they don't have any boats either ... but it would take that bunch a whole lot less time t' make one from scratch than it would me. Not that I know th' first flippin' thing about boat-buildin' m'self. Still, hate like blazes t' waste precious time backtrackin' when that rascal Snoga's rangin' far 'n' wide to th' south, maybe gettin' farther away with every bally moment that passes. Maybe he's makin' all the way for that Southsward place. Travellin' in such a small band like that, too ... Hey! Maybe his own ruffians finally had all of him they could stand, an' gave him the old heave ho! Now wouldn't that be fittin'! Still, I wonder wot that rat who was with 'em was all about ... "

Finishing his simple repast of bread and cheese, Hanchett washed it down with a few pawfuls of water scooped from the river, then splashed some into his face for good measure. "Ah' that's refreshin'! Best way t' beat th' heat on a scorcher of a day like this. Maybe otters have th' right idea after all, just divin' in any old time it strikes their fancy. Has an undeniable appeal in th' summer, don'tcha know ... "

Standing and surveying the landscape around him, Hanchett's gaze settled on a lone tree to the northeast of his position, its spreading branches casting an inviting cave of shade on the otherwise shelterless terrain. "Ah, that solitary sycamore looks like it'll do for a spot of rest. Since my destination's undecided for the nonce, may's well kick back an' mull th' situation over some more, wot? At least until bally old Mr. Sun's a touch lower in th' sky ... "

Minutes later, stretching out his long legs before him with his back against the cool bark and his travel pack alongside him, Hanchett laced his paws behind his head and reveled in the idyllic moment. "Then again," he mused aloud, "maybe I'll just linger 'round here for a day or three, an' see wot there is t' see ... "


	12. Chapter 95

Chapter Ninety-Five

Urthblood was waiting on the plateau of Salamandastron when Altidor returned.

The great golden eagle glided down out of the morning sky, flapping his wings to brake himself as he alighted on the crater rim alongside his badger master. Urthblood welcomed his bird chief with nothing more than an expectant gaze.

"Altidor. It has been longer than I anticipated. I was beginning to wonder whether you had met with foul play."

The raptor cocked his head at Urthblood, a hint of amusement in his sparkling eyes. "But, wouldn't you have ... sensed it ... if I had?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. My powers of prophetic vision are not totally omniscient."

"Ah. So do you know what His Majesty the Rat's answer to your invitation was?"

"Not until you tell me. Although, your mere presence here gives me cause for optimism."

"Then I suppose your perceptions reveal to you what your prescience and foresight do not. Yes, King Tratton has agreed to meet with you."

If Urthblood was at all pleased by this news, he did not show his joy by so much as cracking a smile. "Very good. Did he say when we might expect him here?"

"He would not be any more specific than sometime this summer. And he indicated the preliminary stages of the negotiations might be conducted by one of his underlings, until he is satisfied that it will be ... worth his while ... to participate directly."

"You mean, until he is satisfied I am being sincere, and this is not just a trap."

"He was too diplomatic to voice such thoughts aloud, I will give him that much credit," said Altidor. "But you can see from my delay that he pondered your overture long and hard before he would commit to even this much. If Tratton ever does come anywhere near Salamandastron again after the defeat you dealt him, that alone would be a major accomplishment."

"It is precisely because of that defeat that he will come," Urthblood countered. "He knows I now possess both the means and the will to destroy any ship of his that ventures near this coast, as well as any base he tries to establish on the mainland. And if he even suspects I might take this war to his islands, sea lanes and Terramort itself, he will see the wisdom of ending this now."

"And if he resorts to treachery under the guise of diplomacy?"

"Then I will know it, and he will lose everything."

"Even if the accord you seek is reached and a treaty is signed," asked Altidor, "how do you know he will honor the peace?"

"For the same reasons. I am not expecting all of his rats to suddenly become refined and respectable beasts, and I fully anticipate that there may be further unfortunate ... incidents ... beyond his control. But he must know that if he steps too far out of line with any agreement we reach, I will declare the treaty nullified and the war will resume. And if he thinks I used overwhelming force against him before, I will teach him what total war really means."

00000000000

On his second day of tarrying out on the plains under the sycamore, Hanchett caught a glimpse of movement off to the south that made his ears stand at attention.

He'd seen several creatures pass by during his two days of loitering in this spot, and even spoke to a couple of them. All had been woodlanders, seemingly either local inhabitants or harmless travellers. Now that it was summer, the foraging was plentiful even out on these mostly treeless plains, with more herbs and leaves and tubers than any hare could devour in an entire season. The natives invited Hanchett to help himself to as much as he wanted, since this region was sparsely populated and nature's bounty provided more than enough to meet everybeast's needs.

Those with whom Hanchett spoke could tell him nothing about Snoga or any other suspicious activities taking place around here recently. There were rumors of a searat presence a day or two to the south on the other side of the river, but those seavermin had never ventured this far or caused any trouble in these parts, and until they did the locals seemed content to regard them as no immediate threat worth their worry.

But the movement Hanchett saw now was unlike any he'd noticed so far during his brief stay in this area. Even though this activity was unfolding well beyond the south banks of the broadstream, it was large enough in scale that no self-respecting Long Patrol scout could have missed it. Some procession was making its way across the wastelands there, and although they were too far for Hanchett to tell who they were or what they were doing, there could be no mistaking the almost military orderliness of their progress. And since Urthblood wasn't likely to be engaged in any of his usual shenanigans that far south ...

Hanchett had come down to the very edge of the river in order to get a better look at the distant band, but even with eyes squinted and paw to brow he still could not clearly make them out. Struck by sudden inspiration, he spun on his heel and jogged to the tall, solitary sycamore he'd been using as his impromptu base of operations.

"I'm no bally squirrel, but a hare's gotta make use of wot he's got, wot? These branches made a nice shelter from that light rain we got last night, an' now they'll be my jolly ladder an' observation post too. Just hope these big ol' stompers of mine don't go trippin' me up up there - long way down if it comes to that. Wish I had one o' those peeper tubes Urthblood carries 'round with 'im so I could zoom in on wotever that is goin' on down that way, but I guess I'll be relyin' on good ol' hare vision once I get up there ... "

Pausing to rub some dirt into his palms and scuffing his footpaws against the ground to improve his grip and traction, Hanchett began scaling trunk and branches, single-minded in his purpose as his scouting instincts took over. In no time at all he stood more than halfway up in the tree, surrounded on all sides by leafy greenness through which the sun only occasionally glimmered. Deciding it would be foolhardy to climb any higher to where the limbs might not support his weight to their ends, he shuffled his way along his chosen branch until he emerged from the thickest of the canopy and could stick his head out into the full sunshine. Balancing himself and grabbing onto a smaller crossbranch for support, Hanchett raised his free paw to his brow and once more scanned the horizon to the south.

From up here, despite the distances involved, it was clear to see these were no shrews that had caught his eye. In fact, from this lofty vantage, Hanchett could now see that the movement he'd first detected had not been that of any living beast.

"Catapults?" he murmured to himself. "Searats with catapults?"

But there could be no mistaking it. The searats - or some manner of vermin, at any rate - were herding two of the large siege engines across the flat expanses well south of the broadstream. The devices must have been on wheels, but the going was still ponderous to judge by their slow progress and the side-to-side wobble of the catapults. The group was headed east, from the coastlands toward the heart of ... well, whatever was down that way. By the look of things, their current course seemed like it might take them south of the woodlands altogether. But the direction from which they'd come, and the reports Hanchett had picked up from the other creatures around here, lent credence to his suspicion that they were in fact Tratton's forces.

The question now facing the hare was what, if anything, should - or could - he do about this?

Thinking out loud, Hanchett debated with himself. "Well, that ugly crew's got two rivers an' most of lower Mossflower 'tween 'em an' Redwall, so I gather our Abbey's safe from 'em. Foxguard's even further from here than Redwall, an' those brushtails should have that place just about finished by th' time this scurvy lot could drag those contraptions all th' way up there. They'd also hafta get past Tardo's shrewfaces at Doublegate ... not that those nastynoses would be able t' do much about it without any boats of their own, if those rats stay t' that side of th' river. Still, if those shrews sniff that there's searats in their neck o' th' woods, I gather they'll not be content t' let 'em pass unmolested. Wouldn't wanna be any o' those rats if their gang stumbles inta that nest of shortsword-swingin', sling-twirlin', battle-starved little terrors!" Hanchett glanced skyward. "Hmm ... wonder if any o' Urthblood's birds have spotted 'em yet? Can't be hard t' miss, haulin' those two oversized slingshots 'cross open ground like that. Well, one thing's for bally sure: if th' lands south o' here are crawlin' with searats, it's a safe bet Snoga didn't head there. Or, if he did, he jolly well walked inta somethin' he won't be walkin' out of again. Wouldn't that be nice? One bunch o' villains takin' care of another ... "

Deciding he'd seen all he could from up here, Hanchett retraced his steps and painstakingly climbed back down from the tree, somehow managing to set his feet back on solid ground without breaking his neck in the process. Once there, he stood for long moments gazing southward, contemplating his next move.

"Well, if Snoga did come this way, chances are either His Bloodiness or th' searats put him outta our misery. Either way, I'm not lookin' to tangle with that murderous badger or Tratton's barbarians, so there's nothing else for me here, wot? Always a chance Snoga never came this far, an' lost 'imself somewhere in th' woods behind me ... in which case, that's th' way I'm goin'. Without that wayward delinquent featherbag t' spy out th' lands for me, wot else is a chap to do but go on his own best judgment?"

Heaving a sigh that raised his shoulders, Hanchett turned to gather up his things. "Wasn't plannin' to see Tardo's rudeshrews anytime again this season if I could help it, but now there's nothing for it, wot? Maybe if I'm lucky I'll run into Snoga before I get back to Doublegate, an' spare myself havin' to be subjected to their bad graces again. An' if not, I can let 'em know 'bout those searats. Neighborly thing t' do, after all ... "

00000000000

Kothar had assigned his trusted lieutenant Glebocka to oversee the deployment of the catapults to lower Mossflower. And it turned out that Glebocka had all he could do to keep the other searats in line.

Their contingent was a large one. Kothar had commandeered a score of Kirkirt's archers from the _Keelfang_ - nearly that galleon's entire complement of bowbeasts - as well as the complete gunnery crew ... which made sense, since both catapults had been removed from the _Keelfang_ and mounted on wheels for land duty. Now those two siege weapons were being dragged across the barren region that separated coast from forest at these latitudes. A dozen brawny rats - a mixed lot from Kirkirt's crew and Gormillion's camp staff - pushed and pulled at each catapult, while a third group struggled along with a cartload of stormpowder kegs. All of these rats were trained fighters, and knew full well that once they'd finished with this hard labor, a battle probably awaited them on the other side of this muscle-straining march.

Vanilew, one of the rats hauling at the lead catapult, grumbled and groused as he eyed the unencumbered archers marching in front of him. The bowrats had been split into two groups of ten each, one at the fore of their procession and one bringing up the rear to act as front and trailing guards for the others, who were all too busy with their heavy tasks to be constantly alert and instantly battle-ready.

"Lookit 'em, will ya!" Vanilew complained to his fellow haulers between grunts of exertion. "Strollin' along wi'out a care in th' world, while we bust our backs luggin' these fur-soiled flingers halfway 'cross th' lands!"

Another searat named Bince was more forgiving toward their archer escorts. "Aw, they're jus' doin' their jobs, 'Lew matey. Gotta keep themselves unencumber'd, in case we're attacked."

"Which wouldn't surprise me in th' least if'n we was," Vanilew panted. "Why're we still goin' under this hot sun? I thought th' whole reason we left at nightfall was so that we wouldn't hafta travel in th' daytime!"

"Well, when it got t' be sunrise an' we was still out on these open plains, Cap'n Glebocka figgered we'd be seen whether we stayed in one spot or kept movin', so he went fer gettin' us into th' woods quick as we can."

"Cap'n Glebocka, y'say?" Vanilew mocked. "That rat's boss Kothar ain't even a cap'n, I betcher. They're all jus' ... spies! We ain't got but one cap'n, an' that's Kirkirt. An' don't you ferget it, Bincy!"

"Shh! Not so loud, 'Lew!" Bince glanced furtively around. "Y' don't want that spyrat hearin' ya! They report ev'rything they see 'n' hear right back t' King Tratton 'imself!"

"Aw, Tratton's got more t' worry 'bout than a couple o' grunts like us! An' 'ee's clear across th' sea at Terramort! We don't hafta be afraid o' Uroza's spies here ... "

"Ye're wrong there, 'Lew. Those rats, y' gotta worry 'bout to th' ends o' the earth. They remember names 'n' faces o' everyrat who badmouths 'is Majesty. Gives me th' creeps, they does!"

"Is there a problem here?" Glebocka asked, suddenly appearing at the two rats' side as if from nowhere. Vanilew jumped every bit as high as Bince did.

"N-no, sir. No problem at all!" Bince stammered.

"Yeah," Vanilew added, "we was just won'drin' how far we're gonna hafta slog these things 'fore we can stop fer a rest ... uh, sir."

"Oh, ye'll get your rest soon enuff, when we stop fer lunch, soldier."

"Lunch? T'was thinkin' more in terms o' lyin' down fer a bit o' shuteye. We been tuggin' at these ropes all night wi'out break ... "

"An' ye'll keep at it 'til we're in the shelter of th' trees," Glebocka said matter-of-factly. "If ye're lucky, that'll be sometime 'fore sunrise tomorrow. 'Course, a lot depends on how hard you pull. Sooner we get there, th' sooner you can catch some sleep."

"What're we gonna do when we get there anyway?" Vanilew cast his gaze around them. "I don't see an enemy anywheres ... "

"O' course you don't," Glebocka agreed with a deceptive smile. "That's why we're goin' t' where there _are_ enemies, while Kothar heads further east t' round up th' rest of those shrews who'll be helpin' us."

"Yeah, what's with that anyway? Who ever heard o' makin' an alliance with th' like o' them?"

"We need those shrews," Glebocka explained to Vanilew with wearing patience, "because they know where t' find somethin' belongs to King Tratton, an' they got a hunnerd or two willin' fighters t' lend to our cause. We'll need 'em fer th' fight ahead ... at least until we get back what's ours, at any rate. So once we're able t' lose ourselves in those woods up ahead, we'll wait until Kothar an' them shrews rendezvous back up with us 'fore we proceed."

"An' how long's _that_ gonna take?" Vanilew asked, a petulant tone creeping into his voice once more.

"As long as it takes," Glebocka returned with a dangerous look in his eye. "If it turns out to be twelve seasons, then we'll wait twelve seasons. I shouldn't think you'd be complainin' 'bout that, soldier, since that'd give you all th' time fer restin' you'd ever want!"

As the spyrat drifted off to keep an eye and ear on others in their artillery column, Vanilew returned his attention - and his ire - to the archers marching in front of them. "Still don't think it's fair, them bow-twangers gettin' t' stroll all free 'n' clear like that. Jus' look at 'em, holdin' their snouts up in th' air 'cos they're so proud o' themselves!"

"Well, mebbe if you wasn't so nearsighted, you coulda tried out fer their squad yerself ... "

Glebocka ended up on the right side of the crawling column, gazing south across the desolate landscape. No creature was visible in that direction now, but the intelligence agent knew that was the route taken by his master Kothar, along with Snoga and the other three surviving shrews. It would be a much longer trek for them, but both Snoga and Kothar knew they must give Urthblood's shrews as wide a berth as possible to avoid detection. This entire plan hinged upon the True Guosim leader being able to deliver his troops for a joint effort. Snoga had not struck either rat as particularly trustworthy, but if he really wanted the stormpowder so badly, he would have to hold up his end of this alliance, since the catapults and ammunition would be in place before Snoga even got to his brethren and he would need the searats' cooperation as much as they needed his.

Glebocka had no way of knowing a hare of the Long Patrol had spotted his caravan, but even if he had, he would not have been unduly concerned, especially since Hanchett was not currently affiliated with Redwall, his fellow hares or any other substantial military group. Glebocka was far more worried about being spotted from the air by one of Urthblood's birds. Such a premature discovery would give warning both to those who guarded the captured searat vessel and to Salamandastron itself, stirring up forces against which even Snoga and Kothar's combined forces would be powerless. The element of surprise was always an advantage in any engagement, but in this case it was almost essential. If Urthblood became alerted to their presence while they were still making their slow progress across this open territory, they might very well find themselves surrounded and destroyed before they were even in place. If they'd had camouflage netting to cover the catapults and cart, they might be able to rest during the day without fear of discovery, but neither Gormillion nor any of the ships tied up to his dock had had such coverings, and there was no time to fashion any.

Gritting his teeth, Glebocka veered his steps back toward the haulers. It never hurt to remind them that the eyes of Tratton were watching ... and the Searat King would not tolerate failure.


	13. Chapter 96

Chapter Ninety-Six

Summer wore on at Redwall Abbey, and it wore on rather well at that. Peace and calm held sway in these early days of the season so far, and the Abbeybeasts were glad for the respite from the strife and tragedy that had been so prevalent in recent times. Nameday had passed joyously and without any unfortunate incidents - everything a Nameday should be, in fact - and that seemed to set the tenor for the days that followed. Of course there were reminders of what Redwall had lost - the absences of Aurelia and Broggen were a hole in the heart of this community that would never be filled as long as their friends remembered them, and Vanessa's continued bizarre condition was a constant if sometimes humorous affront to the usual order of things - but for the most part the bad times seemed to be behind them. Life at the Abbey had settled back into the old routines, much the same as it had always been, staying the same and yet changing, if ever so slowly ...

00000000000

"It is time for me to leave, Abbot."

Arlyn gazed across his desk at the healer vixen and her young badger protege. Mona and Metellus had sought out the elderly mouse here in the study that had once been his and then had passed to Vanessa and now had reverted to him once more. His two visitors sat in adjacent chairs before him; the Abbot noted how Metellus, while still very much a child, was nearly as big as his mentor, but such were the ways of badgers. When Metellus was fully grown he would be a creature to be reckoned with, whether he chose the life of a healerbeast or became a full-fledged Badger Lord.

Arlyn sighed. "I've known for a long time that this day was coming, of course, but still it feels to me like it has come too soon. Is there no way I can convince you to stay with us just a little longer, Mona?"

"I am sorry, Abbot. It still eats at me that I wasn't there when Snoga attacked Foxguard. Andrus had some very skilled healers of his own among his swordfoxes, but I will always wonder whether I might have been able to save a life or two had I been present."

"Then again, you could very well have been slain yourself, and then none of us would have the benefit of your talents."

"Perhaps. But the truth is you persuaded me to stay even after I'd fully intended to accompany Tolar's brigade back to Foxguard. And the reasons you used to sway me were not without merit. But Kurdyla now walks with crutches, and nature will finish mending him without my assistance. Browder is as good as new, and all the harebabes have arrived - all except for Melanie's, which isn't due until nearly the fall - and they're all fine and healthy. And as for the Abbess ... well, if she's ever going to return to her old self, it won't be because of anything I can do for her. My work here is done, Abbot. And now I must join my own kind where I belong."

Arlyn's gaze shifted to Metellus. "And how do you feel about this, my son?"

"I'll miss her terribly, as both a friend and a teacher," the young badger replied with an earnestness that belied his tender seasons. "We've grown very close since she started training me, and I've told her I really don't want her to leave. But I understand that she has to."

"Mona tells me you've made great progress under her tutelage, and I have been impressed by what I have seen myself. I'm not half the healer she is, but I will do my best to continue your training for as long as you wish. Between my personal seasons of experience and the journals in the Infirmary kept by our last few chief healers, we should be able to further your education quite satisfactorily."

"Yes, Father Abbot. But ... "

"Yes, Metellus, what is it?"

"I've already read all the books in the Infirmary."

"All ... all of them?"

Metellus nodded. "I still don't understand a lot of the words, but Mona says I just need to read them through a few more times with somebeast who does. Brother Geoff said he'd find me some of the older Infirmary records from the Abbey archives, but you know how Geoff is ... "

"Oh yes, I know!" Arlyn chuckled. "How well I know! That mouse has been trying to impose some semblance of order to our wild and untamed archives since the day he became Abbey Recorder. So many interruptions and upheavals these past few seasons, and now the very real chance that he might have to take over as Abbot from me, given Vanessa's state ... but perhaps someday he'll succeed at that endeavor. But, back to the matters at paw. Ah, where were we ... ?"

"My departure," Mona prompted the elderbeast, "and the continued training of Metellus."

"Ah yes. Well, it appears things shall just have to take care of themselves in that regard. I'll take over as Infirmary keeper as best I can, and try to speed Metellus along as quickly as I am able so that he may assume that position with confidence when it becomes necessary for him to do so. But as for you, Mona, when do you plan on leaving?

"Tomorrow, or the day after. Certainly no later than that."

"Oh. Well, you have certainly been a great help to us this past season, Mona, above and beyond what anybeast here could have asked of you. So, sorry as we'll all be to see you go and as much as I'd like for you to stay on, I realize it would be unreasonable for us to expect even more of you. But I had hoped you would give us enough notice of your departure so that we could properly honor you. A farewell celebration, in tribute to everything you've done for us ... "

Mona seemed uncomfortable with this suggestion. "Oh, thank you, Abbot, but I've never really enjoyed being the center of attention. I'd really rather you didn't go to any special trouble on my account."

"But we owe you a great debt of thanks, my child. If you can see your way to delaying your departure until the day after tomorrow, then we'll be able to put together a farewell feast to show you our gratitude." Seeing that the vixen was still clearly unsettled by the prospect of being the guest of honor at any such affair, Arlyn smiled benevolently and added, "It is the Redwall way, after all. You know us - any excuse for a feast will do! And I'm sure you will not want to disappoint us by denying us this last chance to show you the full extent of our hospitality. So I'll make sure you're not thrust into the center stage at the feast tomorrow. No speeches, no tributes, no embarrassment or self-consciousness - just a lot of good food and the company of all your newfound friends. In fact, nobeast outside this room even needs to know this feast will be in your honor! How does that sound?"

"But, then what will you tell everybeast this feast is for?" Mona asked, confused.

"We don't have to tell them anything. I'm Abbot, and I can order a feast on a whim if I so choose. It can be our little secret ... "

"A mystery feast!" Metellus chimed in.

"Yes!" Arlyn quickly picked up, beaming. "Our own little mystery feast! With games for all the children - and maybe the grown-ups too - with secret gifts and prizes! It will be wonderful! Please say you'll agree to this, Mona."

She shrugged. "Well, it sounds like you two are going to proceed with this no matter what I say, so I might as well go along! But remember your promise, Abbot - I am _not_ to be the guest of honor. No speeches or tribute, by me or to me."

"Of course, of course. Why, we can even make it look like you were planning to leave tomorrow, but decided to stick around an extra day so you could enjoy one last Redwall feast. Just let me announce the feast first, and then you can 'let it slip' to a few select ears that you'll have to alter your travel plans. In a community as close-knit as Redwall, that will spread throughout our population in no time at all. When we're through with them, they won't have a clue that this feast is being held with you in mind."

Mona gave a crafty smile indicative of her species. "That's very sly of you, Abbot. Are you sure you don't have any foxes hiding in your family tree?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Now, on the matter of your journey to Foxguard. I take it you were not planning to make the trip all alone, by yourself?"

"I ... hadn't really thought about it, Abbot. I was simply going to walk due east through the forest until I reached the banks of the River Moss opposite Foxguard, then call or signal across for some of the otters to come get me on their rafts."

"But what if they're all busy working when you arrive, and nobeast sees you right away? You could be stuck waiting for quite some time. Why not use our ferry raft instead? That way, you'll be able to sail right up to the doorstep of Foxguard on your own."

"I'd never be able to row against the currents by myself. And how would I get your ferry back to you?"

"Well, a few of us would have to go with you, naturally."

"Oh, I would hate to inconvenience you like that ... "

"Think nothing of it, Mona. After all, didn't Tolar issue a standing invitation to us when he was here for Nameday, saying we could visit anytime we wanted? Besides, I know at least one Redwaller who would most likely be cross with me if I denied him this opportunity to visit his newest friend ... "

00000000000

Arlyn announced the feast immediately, and word spread like wildfire throughout the Abbey, from kitchen to garden and from cellars to walltop. The idea of a mystery feast was a novelty to every Redwaller, and since the only three beasts who knew the truth behind this spur-of-the-moment celebration were sworn to secrecy, it seemed it would remain a mystery indeed.

But even a mystery feast required very real food and drink, and very hard work and preparation. Setting aside his plans for lunch and dinner, Friar Hugh whipped up his kitchen staff into a cooking and baking frenzy to do a Nameday proud, making up the menu as they went along. Down in her cellars, Balla began sampling from different casks and barrels to see which brews were fit for such a fine summer repast. It was still too soon to tell what the morrow's weather would be like, so the brawnier Abbeybeasts had to wait to see whether they would be moving tables and benches outdoors for the feast. Inside or out, they would need their most festive table coverings for the occasion, and the sisters in charge of linens set to work making sure everything would be ready in this regard as well.

Arlyn took aside Sister Orellana, who normally would have been part of the linen duty, and assigned her a special task that had occurred to him would go perfectly with the theme of a mystery celebration. He had promised in his announcement that there would be special prizes for contest winners, and Orellana possessed a unique talent that would help make those prizes a reality.

"Now all I have to do is figure out what the contests themselves will be," Arlyn muttered to himself as he left the Head Seamstress. "Guess I'll leave that up to Maura, along with our otters and hares and squirrels - they've always been much better at that kind of thing than I am."

Even before Arlyn's announcement, Brother Geoff had decided to conduct that morning's classes down in Great Hall in front of the tapestry and the sword and shield of Martin the Warrior. The day had dawned clear and warm, and the Recorder mouse knew he could never keep the attention of his restive pupils up in their usual cramped classroom, which had grown quite stuffy as a result of this recent warm spell. And it would be nearly as hopeless trying to teach his lessons outside, since the grass and sun and trees and birds and insects and breezes and smells and activities of other creatures working and passing by would all conspire to distract his students beyond any hope of holding their interest.

He'd found through past experience that holding classes in Great Hall at such times was a happy medium of sorts that would often do the trick. This grand chamber was less confining than their regular classroom or even Cavern Hole, without providing the full array of diversions they would encounter outdoors. These days there were usually more beasts to be found out on the grounds than here, as long as it wasn't mealtime, and if Geoff was going to lose any of his pupils to bouts of daydreaming and inattentiveness, at least it would be in front of Redwall's most revered historical artifacts, where woolgathering students might be inspired to fantasize about Martin and the long-ago days of the Abbey's founding.

At least, that had been his strategy before Arlyn's feast announcement. If there was one thing more difficult than trying to teach a class of fidgety youngbeasts who would rather be cavorting out under the summer sun, it was doing so the day before a feast, with the tempting aromas of the food preparations already wafting out of the kitchens to permeate every corner of the Abbey. With such savory scents assailing their noses and serving as a constant reminder of what the following day held in store for them, the prospects of imparting any new knowledge to these young minds seemed very slim indeed.

And it certainly didn't help matters any that one of his assistants seemed to be missing in action.

"Mista Geoff, what's tomorra's feast gonna be for?"

"I've already told both you and Droge a dozen times, Budsock - I don't know!" Geoff sighed in growing frustration. "Now, as I was saying before you interrupted me, Mariel and Dandin spent a season at Castle Floret after the battle with Urgan Nagru - "

"Nagru! Nagru!" the Sparrachild Harpreet burst out in a clear singsong trill, deciding she liked the sound of that villainous foxwolf's name. "NagruNagruNagru!"

"Yes, yes, that's right," Geoff winced, covering his ears. "Urgan Nagru ... "

"Why don'tcha know?" Budsock asked the teacher.

"Um ... know what?"

"Why there's gonna be a feast!"

"Because the Abbot has not seen fit to share that with me. Now where is Winokur? He's being uncharacteristically delinquent in his responsibilities this morning. If I find he's out frolicking in the pond with those other webpawed shirkers ... "

"I don't think so, Brother Geoff," Cyrus said from the bench alongside the standing historian. "I poked my head out the door just before class began, and I didn't see him anywhere."

"Well, then I can't ... oh, here he comes now!" Geoff caught sight of Winokur emerging from the stairs leading down from the second floor. The novice otter hastened over to the group, looking somewhat abashed.

"Uh, sorry I'm late! I forgot you'd said you would be holding class down here today. Found myself standing in an empty classroom wondering where everybeast else was!"

Geoff shook his head. "It's bad enough that these young ones are having trouble keeping their minds on their lessons. The last thing I need is to get the same from one of my assistants!"

"Um, sorry, Brother Geoff," Winokur weakly repeated.

"I can't believe it took you so long to make your way down here. You must have been standing in that empty room for a long time!"

"Oh, no!" the otter quickly defended himself. "Abbot Arlyn took me aside on my way there, and we were talking for awhile in his study. That's why my mind wasn't fully on what I was doing. Mona is going to be leaving for Foxguard after this mystery feast, and Arlyn doesn't want her making that journey all alone, so he's asking a few Redwallers to go with her. He knew I'd relish the chance to visit Roxroy again, so I was the first beast he thought of."

Geoff stroked his chinfur. "Interesting timing on Mona's part. Guess she plans to eat and run."

"She was actually planning to leave tomorrow, according to the Abbot," said Winokur. "But when she heard about this mystery feast, she was convinced to put off leaving for a day."

"Smart vixen," Geoff acknowledged. "But then, it's a rare beast who would pass up a chance to attend a Redwall feast. Mona's enjoyed enough of them to know what she'd be missing. I'll be sorry to see her go; she's been such a big help to us in the Infirmary. Did Arlyn say what we're going to do about a healer once she's gone?"

"He'll take over the training for Metellus until ... well, until Metellus is ready to become full-time Infirmary keeper, I suppose."

"I just hope that badger lad is serious about taking this as his life's vocation. He's the only healer-in-training we have right now, and if he grows bored with his lessons or decides this isn't for him after all ... "

"Aw, he wouldn't do that!" Budsock protested. "Metty's no quitter! He'll stick ta what he says he's gonna do!"

"I suspect Budsock's right," said Winokur. "Metellus might still be a child in badger seasons, but he's probably lived longer than me and Cyrus put together, and his mother did a good job of instilling discipline and dedication in him. To see him studying with Mona or poring over some of the old healer's journals, you'd think he was far more mature than he is."

"Well, I just wonder how long Arlyn will be able to keep it up, filling in as acting Abbot and full-time Infirmary keeper and instructor for Metellus as well. That's quite demanding for a mouse of his seasons. I mean, he was retired before all of this, after all!"

"I know," said Winokur. "But unless Vanessa snaps out of this weird fugue that she's in, I guess it's up to Arlyn and Metellus for now." Winokur scanned the assembled students. "Speaking of that mouse, where is she? I don't see her here ... "

"Cutting class again," answered Geoff, "and I'm just as glad for it. She can be as disruptive as Droge and Budsock put together. And I for one am not about to go chasing after our former Abbess for playing hooky!"

00000000000

The three new hare mothers sat around the pond with their babes and their husbands, enjoying a family outing before the day grew too warm. Browder lounged self-consciously on Mizagelle's far side, his wife a symbolic barrier between him and the other Long Patrol hares. They may have accepted Browder as Mizagelle's spouse and a necessary evil in their midst, but they would never let him forget that he would never be one of them.

Mizagelle wiped a smidgen of mashed turnip from the corner of her son Chevelle's mouth. "How's about that, Chevvy?" she cooed to him. "You're gonna see your first smashing Redwall beanfest tomorrow!"

Chevelle returned her doting gaze with a vapidly delightful smile of his own, tiny ears pinned back and tiny paws grasping at the edges of his blanket. The harebabe burbled in carefree joy, a turnip-tinted bubble forming between his tender lips.

"Fat lotta good it's gonna do our little tykes, sis," Givadon said from her spot between Mizagelle and her own husband Baxley. Her daughter Faylona sat balanced upon Givadon's knee while the haremum spooned her some pureed carrots. "All they'll jolly well be able to enjoy is this mush anyway, so it'll be th' same ol' same old for them ... "

"Unless Vanessa sneaks some hotroot into their mishmash," Baxley chuckled.

"Daresay our good ol' Friar's learned his lesson after last Nameday," Lieutenant Gallatin said from alongside his wife Florissant on the far end of their seating row along the pondbank. "I'll be surprised if he lets Vanessa anywhere near th' kitchens ever again! 'Sides, we wouldn't want li'l Troyall here gettin' his lips 'n' tongue stung, do we, Troy?" He playfully waggled a paw at his son, who'd been named in remembrance of the recently departed Broyall.

"Well, at least this is one feast we won't hafta share with a huge gang o' foxes, or Urthblood's other vermin," muttered Baxley.

"Oh, they weren't all that bad," countered Givadon. "Kinda surprised how decently they comported themselves last time th' whole flippin' lot of 'em was here ... "

"But, they're _FOXES_!" her husband protested. "Surely you don't _trust_ 'em, Givvy?"

"Well, I never said _that_!"

"An' there will be at least one fox here for this feast," Mizagelle reminded them. "Let's not forget about Mona ... "

"Yeah, wot's the deal with her?" wondered Baxley. "I thought she was s'posed to be out of here an' off with her own kind by now." He threw a glance at the spire of Foxguard, which reared into the sky above the east walltop, visible from almost every part of the Abbey grounds.

"I think if Abbot Arlyn had his bally way, that vixen would be made a permanent Redwaller," opined Givadon. "Doesn't want her t' leave this season or next, an' I can't say I blame him. We'll be in a bit of a fix for a healerbeast once she's gone, an' that's no fib."

"T' be wholly truthful," said Florissant, "I'm gonna miss that ferretbabe. I know his dad was an officer for His Bloodiness, an' his mum wasn't fit t' raise a twig, but that tyke seemed as cute an' innocent as any woodland babe. An' he's just th' age that he'd make a perfect playmate for our terrible trio here. Too bad Grayfoot took his family away after last Nameday. I hope that little maskface'll be all right without the wholesome influence of us Redwallers t' help keep him on the bally straight 'n' narrow, wot?"

"Not like they went across th' bloomin' ocean, Florry," said Mizagelle. "They'll be back t' visit once in awhile, you can be jolly sure o' that. It's Redwall, after all - wot beast could possibly keep away, 'specially if they're just down th' road?"

"An' I s'pose we could always nip down there for some day trips, assumin' our tots end up gettin' along okay," added Givadon, making google eyes at her fussy daughter.

"Might wanna make some runs down there anyway," Gallatin suggested, "or mebbe even station a hare or three down that way, just t' keep an eye on that place, don'tcha know."

"You don't trust Grayfoot?" asked Baxley.

"A former captain of Urthblood's, settin' up shop in this part o' Mossflower at the same time as those swordfoxes? Do you?"

"Well, he didn't seem exactly hostile," Mizzy pointed out. "An' our jolly ol' Abbess is - or was - a pretty good judge o' character, an' she seemed perfectly willin' t' let that ferret family make their homestead where they wanted, not t' mention dispatchin' a whole happy host o' Abbeybeasts t' help get that tavern built. Why, wot d' you think might be goin' on there?"

"Knowin' Urthblood? Wouldn't be a bit surprised if he sets that place up as an armory instead of a tavern, stockin' it with weapons rather than food 'n' drink. That way he'd be able t' quickmarch a whole buncha his uglies right inta Mossflower without havin' 'em weighed down by blades 'n' shields 'n' spears 'n' wotnot. Or he could station a score or two o' his troop there as an advance force, or use it as a spy post, gatherin' an' coordinatin' intelligence 'bout wot goes on in this neck o' our woods. He'll need new spies on this side o' the River Moss, once that vixen goes to Foxguard ... "

"Aren't you forgettin' Lady Mina?" said Baxley. "She'll still be here, an' she's as sure a spy as His Bloodiness ever had."

"An' that squirrel queen might not be th' only spy in our midst," Baxley added, turning a jaundiced eye Browder's way. The player hare took a few moments to catch onto the implication, hovering on the fringes of the conversation as he was.

"Hey! I don't jolly well work for Lord Urthblood anymore, don'tcha know, an' I was never _that_ kinda spy either, wot?"

Mizagelle patted her indignant husband's paw to soothe his umbrage while the others went back to ignoring Browder. "Well, I don't wager Urthblood needs spies inside Redwall or down at Grayfoot's either," said Baxley, "not with that big red tower watchin' over us day 'n' night. That's all the eyes in this part o' Mossflower that badger needs."

"'Specially if they've got any o' those blinkin' spyglasses," seconded Florissant. "Prob'ly be able t' see wot we're havin' t' scoff at tomorrow's feast." She sighed and went back to playing with Troyall. "It's enough t' make a new haremum wanna give up on politics an' strategies an' just enjoy bein' a mother. Isn't that right, Troyee?" She tickled his lips, and was repaid with a cackle of babyish laughter.

The informal hare conference was disrupted by a running figure who flashed by them like the wind. "Hey, wot was that?" said Givadon, half-turning.

"Looked like a mouse, but it was movin' like a hare," replied Baxley.

Moments later, gruff bellows of anger reached their long ears as Maura came bustling their way. "Vanessa! Vanessa, you get your tail back here!"

"Don't think she has any plans on doin' that, marm," Gallatin said to the agitated badger, "judgin' by how fast she was runnin' in the opposite bally direction. Wot'd she go an' do now?"

"Foremole had some paint out to brighten up the toy boats for racing in the pond tomorrow, and Vanessa got into it when nobeast was looking. She painted our Abbey sundial blue!"

This elicited chuckles from several of the hares. "Well, um ... " ventured Florissant, "does it still - ah - tell th' time?"

"Or has its shadow - heehee! - turned blue too?" Mizagelle added, and then most of the hares exploded into gales of laughter, prompting the three babes to join in even though they couldn't possibly know what all the merriment was about. Even Browder let a goofy grin spread across his face.

"It's not funny!" Maura rumbled, mortified, but the laughter proved infectious, and shortly she was guffawing as boisterously as any of the hares. "Okay, so maybe it _is_ funny," she conceded, wiping at her eyes, "but whatever you do, don't let Vanessa let on. If that little firebrand suspected we found her antics amusing, there'd be no stopping her!"


	14. Chapter 97

Chapter Ninety-Seven

Snoga had finally made it back to Castle Marl. But this homecoming would be a short one; no sooner did he set foot upon the shores of the isolated island than he commenced mobilizing the totality of his forces for the coming assault.

"All o' us, Boss?" Kellom, his sole surviving lieutenant, asked at this announcement. "Ain't we gonna leave anybeast b'hind t'all?"

"Why'd we wanna do that?" Snoga snapped. "Well, uh, it won't leave nobeast t' guard th' place. What if these rats who live here take back th' castle while we're gone?"

"These rats?" Snoga scoffed. "We got 'em so cowed, they'll tremble with fear th' moment they see us headin' back this way agin. We know they gotta go out t' tend their crops ev'ryday anyway, so if they give us any trouble we'll just grab a few of 'em as hostages an' threaten t' kill 'em. These dullards may be vermin, but they're soft as Redwallers when it comes to their whelps an' kinfolk. They'll do whatever we tell 'em if they think it'll save any o' their fellows from sufferin'."

Snoga was careful to say all of this away from Tasnuva, who had ferried the returning shrew expedition and their searat cohorts back out to the isle at the heart of the vast inland lake. The chieftain of the lakeshore shrew tribes still did not realize how, far from sharing the island peacefully with the benevolent water rats, the True Guosim had brutally enslaved the defenseless natives and held the entire population under threat of death.

Tasnuva wasn't the only one Snoga had to keep in the dark. Not even Kellom knew the renegade shrew leader had formed an alliance with the searats, and Snoga wanted to keep it that way. To that end, Snoga had stopped during the return trip to barter three spare jerkins from an otter holt they'd passed, so that Kothar and his two companions could trade their searat uniforms for woodlander garb. Tratton's spyrats were much better spoken than the average searat, and had no trouble presenting themselves as simple forest rats rather than crusty pirates or corsairs. If his shrews suspected Snoga had agreed to work with the searats, even some of his more devoted followers might well abandon him.

So far, the ruse seemed to be working. Most of his shrews had been surprised to see Snoga return in the company of the rat trio, and mystified as to why he would enter into a partnership with these particular beasts after so mercilessly crushing the water rats of this island. But they all seemed to have accepted Snoga's explanation that Kothar's "woodland" rats possessed knowledge and resources that would help the True Guosim strike a blow against Urthblood's Northlanders. Clearly, these were creatures with whom they would have to work as equals.

As for the other three survivors from Snoga's expedition to the coastlands, they knew better than to contradict their leader about anything that had happened to them. They'd been chosen for their loyalty, after all, and now Snoga's foresight paid off. With his three fellow travellers backing him up (or at the very least nodding noncommittally at his account), Snoga successfully hoodwinked the rest of his shrews. Even Kellom, whom he normally would have trusted with such things.

"Besides," Snoga went on to his lieutenant, "we're gonna need ev'ry shrew fer this action. Can't spare any fer guardin' this island from rats who're afraid o' their own shadows. Now, get back t' makin' those boats ready! We're leavin' come morn!"

"Yes, sir! Right away, Boss!"

As Kellom scurried away to oversee preparations for their departure, Kothar took Snoga aside. "A couple of minor points of concern ... "

"Yes, what is it?" the shrew snapped. Kothar's manner all during their journey to the island had actually been quite reserved, and he had not given Snoga the least cause to be irate with him. But still, he was a rat. And not just a rat, but a searat, even if Snoga dared not let that slip to anybeast else. Being civil to such a beast was more than the false Log-a-Log could bring himself to do, especially since Snoga normally had trouble being civil to anybeast at all.

Kothar, ever-mindful of the part he was playing and keenly aware that he was a visitor to the heart of Snoga's power base, kept his composure in the face of his ally's brusqueness. "I think Tasnuva is still not sure about me. He may harbor suspicions that I am not what I appear ... "

Snoga dismissed the searat's concerns. "Aw, don't ya worry 'bout him. He'll not be comin' with us when we go t' get yer ship back, so after th' next couple days he'll be outta our fur."

"You led me to believe we'd be picking up additional fighters from along the lakeshore - shrews, and perhaps even some otters. If Tasnuva persuades them not to join us ... "

"Jus' let me do all th' talkin', an' I'll round us up all th' bodies we'll need. You jus' make sure you c'n keep up yer end o' things, rat. We're gonna need that stormpowder if'n ye're serious 'bout stealin' back that iron tub o' yers."

Kothar took a moment to reply. He'd had ample opportunity to observe Snoga in the time they'd spent together. As one of Spymaster Uroza's senior agents, Kothar was very good at observing, and analyzing the data he collected with his eyes and ears. And he knew Snoga was not a beast to be trusted. The way this shrew had conducted himself at Gormillion's mining camp spoke volumes toward his brashness and unpredictability, but there was also the matter of the searat spy who'd guided Snoga to the coast. His corpse bore the unambiguous signs of tortures that few if any goodbeasts could bring themselves to administer. And once they'd arrived at Castle Marl, Kothar easily read the fear in the eyes of the subjugated water rats, and could only wonder what terrors of Snoga's had reduced them to such a state. He could understand now why Snoga considered himself Urthblood's enemy; this shrew was no goodbeast, no decent woodlander. And this, Kothar knew, would make him as dangerous to deal with as any power-hungry searat captain who fancied himself beyond King Tratton's control.

Fortunately, Kothar had more than a little experience in dealing with treacherous beasts.

"I will leave it to you then," he said placatingly. "In all truth, your force of shrews here on this island would probably be enough for the task at paw."

"Oh, you ain't seen th' size o' that timber fort Urthblood built t' guard yer rustbucket. We'll need ev'rybeast we c'n get." Snoga scowled at the searat. "Anything else?"

"Yes. Just how long do you plan to pass us off to your fighters as woodland rats?"

"Huh? Whaddya mean?"

"I mean that when we reach our destination, your army will see threescore searats staffing our catapults and wielding our bows. The masquerade that you have made an alliance with simple Mossflower rats will not be easy to maintain."

"Well, I'll figger sumthin' out ... "

"There's a very simple solution sitting right here under your nose."

"Oh?"

"These native water rats wear woodlander-style garb. We should be able to round up enough shirts and jerkins between them to outfit all my rats, and perpetuate this deception."

"Threescore, huh?" Snoga stroked his whiskers. "I dunno - that might leave some o' these idjits goin' out t' tend their crops naked!"

"Would that really be an issue for you?"

Snoga displayed a ferally malicious grin. "Naw, that it wouldn't!"

"Once we get off this island and back to the mainland, I can send my two rats ahead with the clothes to the rendezvous point. By the time your main force arrives, they'll see naught but woodland rats - like me!"

"I like th' way you think, Kothar matey! Okay, we'll go with that plan. I'll get my shrews t' collectin' that garb fer ya right away. Should be able t' get it done without delayin' us. Still wanna leave t'morra at first light, so hopefully we c'n be back on land tomorrow night."

"Very good. I'll have my two rats help with that, so we can keep to schedule."

As the two leaderbeasts went their separate ways, Kothar reflected upon the situation. He still didn't know exactly what Snoga was all about or precisely how the shrew meant to betray him, but he had to admit that interesting times lay ahead.

00000000000

It took some work, but Hanchett finally found himself on the south side of the lower broadstream.

Two days after spotting the searat catapult caravan, Hanchett was back at Doublegate to alert the Northland shrews about it. Surprisingly (or perhaps not so surprisingly) Tardo was slow to react to the hare's warning of this new threat. Hanchett's failure to locate any sign of Snoga to the west, combined with Klystra's absence (which could only mean the falcon had found something more important to occupy him than the dubious sighting of Snoga), convinced the shrew captain now more than ever that the Long Patrol scout had been mistaken about what he'd seen out on the river that night. And if Hanchett could be so stubborn in his insistence upon one false claim, why should Tardo turn his garrison upside down over a gang of searats far to the south who might not even be there?

"Well, aren'tcha even gonna give th' situation one jolly peek?" Hanchett asked on his second day at the shrew fort, when it became apparent that his alert was going unheeded.

"An' how're we s'posed t' do that?" Tardo countered. "We ain't even got any boats 'ere."

"Then build some! I'm not t' blame for your appallingly poor plannin', wot?"

"Aw, even if ya wasn't seein' things, what good would it do? You said yerself they was way down in th' wastelands, on a path t' take 'em south o' here. Chances are they was headin' t' some battle out on open territory. Catapults ain't exactly forest weapons ... an' we got a whole wide river 'tween us an' them."

"Gee, I was under th' bally impression that Urthblood put all you little rudesnouts here just so you could check out things like this ... "

Tardo bristled. "Lord Urthblood built Doublegate t' safeguard that searat ship an' these waterways, as well as th' woodlands immediately 'round us - not t' go runnin' off on wild goose chases!"

In the end, Hanchett harangued the reluctant shrew commander into building a raft which could carry the hare and a dozen of the smaller creatures across the broadstream. Another day was wasted in this endeavor, which did little to improve Hanchett's temperament. "At this bloomin' rate," he grumbled to himself at one point, "those rats'll be clear to th' eastern sea by th' time we're across this trickle!"

Things improved little when the scouting party finally did reach the other side. That day dawned clammy and rainy, one long period of misty drizzle that made their garments cling to them like suffocating restraints, punctuated by torrents that drenched them through clothes and fur to the skin. While it was a relief to have the hot spell broken by this cooling wetness, this inclement weather discouraged the shrews - already feeling that they were there under duress - from putting their full efforts into this mission. For all of that day and part of the next they probed the woods along the south riverbank, searching for any signs of an enemy. When their squad commander called it quits on the second afternoon of their search, Hanchett was disappointed but hardly surprised. They'd only covered a fraction of the territory that they should have, but he supposed they were lucky to have gotten even that much done, given the team's clear resentment toward what they saw as a waste of time.

"Well, I'm headin' back," the ranking shrew announced. "This whole thing was a bust - ain't no searats ner any other foebeasts anywheres hereabouts. An' that sleep in th' rain last night didn't do much fer my disposition."

"Oh? Y' seem just as sour an' grumpy t' me as always, chap."

"Oh, harr harr. You comin, bunny?"

Hanchett shook his head. "Took me blinkin' long enuff t' get on this side of th' river, an' we ain't begun t' turn over all the rocks an' logs those villains could be hidin' under. Even 'fore I got a gander at those searats, somethin' told me Snoga might've gone t' ground somewhere down this way. I mean, I spent half the spring scourin' most of Mossflower north o' here, an' t'was like he vanished! I'm bettin' my bally bobtail that this is where he's been stashin' his scruffy self - an' why I haven't been able t' apprehend that hooligan!"

"Well, suit yerself then. If you wanna keep lookin', be my guest. But ye'll be doin' it on yer own, 'cos we're headin' back t' where we c'n sleep in soft, dry beds. C'mon, shrews!"

Hanchett was just as glad to be left to himself. He was accustomed to working on his own, going back to his days at Salamandastron. He could cover ground far faster and more stealthily without being saddled by the shrews, who'd made no honest effort toward speed or stealth. The way they'd gone blundering through the rainy forest, constantly calling to each other in their gruff voices, Hanchett wouldn't have been the least bit surprised if there had indeed been enemies in these woods who'd simply scattered or fallen back at the sound of the approaching scouts, fading into the misty trees just far enough to remain undiscovered.

Hanchett would not be so careless. He was bound and determined to scour these southernmost fringes of Mossflower as he had the region between the two rivers. If searats or Snoga's shrews were anywhere to be found in these parts, Hanchett would find them, and he would do so without betraying his presence or driving his quarry to ground. Pirates and corsairs he would leave alone - they were not his immediate concern, and he had no interest in picking a fight with a superior force - but if he happened upon the True Guosim and their leader, then it would be a very different story. His business with Snoga was far from finished, and Hanchett had every intention of closing that account.

In the days that followed, Hanchett crisscrossed these lower reaches of Mossflower Woods with the thoroughness and determination that only a seasoned hare of the Long Patrol could display. He didn't make it quite down to where the forest petered out and gave way to the barren desolation that lay between Mossflower and Southsward; if he had bothered to venture that far south to one particular spot, he might have stumbled upon the searats encamped there under the trees with their catapults, awaiting the return of Kothar.

Instead, after satisfying himself that he'd done a decent job of turning over the woodlands immediately south of Doublegate, Hanchett aimed his footsteps east, toward parts as yet unsearched ... and once more toward the distant shores of the big inland lake.

00000000000

So vast were the expanses of Mossflower and the Western Plains that Log-a-Log's Guosim wandered that entire spring without learning of Snoga's attack on Foxguard or any of the other events that had unfolded from that core incident. Now, even as Hanchett picked his way farther inland toward his destiny, the legitimate chieftain of Mossflower's shrews headed the single-column file of his nomadic tribe over the high mountain pass that would take them from the Plains to the coastlands.

Log-a-Log had never visited Salamandastron, and knew that most of his fellow shrews had never so much as set eyes on the legendary mountain stronghold. Gratitude had almost sent him there the previous summer after Urthblood saved his son Pirkko and several other Guosim from searat slavery, but the crimson-armored warrior had dissuaded him, insisting the feud with Urthfist was a matter for badgers alone. Now that that feud was resolved and Salamandastron resided under the rule of (literally) a single strong paw, Log-a-Log felt it was time to redress this oversight at last. He well remembered the tale of Alex, Mina and Machus taking this treacherous shortcut to reach the coastlands in good time - and their tense encounter up here with Colonel Clewiston's twenty Long Patrol hares who were headed in the opposite direction - and since the entire point of the Guosim's warm-weather wanderings was to collect adventures for tale-telling around the fireplaces during their winter at Redwall, the lure of this narrow mountain pass with its stretches of lethal drops was just too tempting to resist.

Log-a-Log also had another very good reason for wanting to visit Urthblood at this time. Before heading out onto the open plains, the Guosim had had several more encounters with some of the Northland shrews ... and, as an indirect result of those encounters, his numbers making this trek were now less than they would have been. And while the Badger Lord could not be held directly accountable for these recent defections from his ranks, the matter warranted some discussion.

The shrew tribe's approach did not go unnoticed. Urthblood's various eyes in the sky caught sight of the Guosim procession as it descended the mountainous slopes of the range toward the flat coastal plain. Word of their arrival was relayed to Salamandastron well in advance, and Urthblood stood awaiting them at the east foot of the mountain fortress to extend his formal greetings to his unexpected guests.

"Welcome, Log-a-Log," the badger rumbled. "I see you brought your Guosim over the mountains. That path can be a dangerous one, even in the best of weather."

"Aw, t'weren't no hardship, M'Lord. Didn't come close t' losin' a single beast. Nice views from up there, must say."

"What brings you to Salamandastron?"

"Well, that pass we just made was part o' th' reason. Me 'n' a lot of my shrews've been wantin' t' take a crack at it ever since we heard 'bout it over th' winter at Redwall. None of us even knew it was there, an' we're always up fer bein' someplace we ain't never been before, 'specially if there's some excitement t' be had in goin' there. T' be honest 'bout it, we didn't find th' crossin' nearly as perilous as others had led us t' expect. A mite disappointin', really ... "

"Still, I am sure you are quite tired from the march. Come, let us see if we can find beds for all your company ... "

As Urthblood led them up to the east tunnel entrance, Log-a-Log asked, "Have you had any further trouble with the searats, M'Lord?"

"Tratton brought a major assault and invasion force to these shores in the middle of last season. That attack was repulsed and the fleet destroyed."

"The fleet destroyed?" Log-a-Log echoed in surprise. "I'll bet that's a tale worth tellin'!"

"Much has gone on lately that I am sure will interest you. I trust you will find Salamandastron to be Redwall's equal when it comes to catching up on news of the lands. This mountain sees much action, and my birds gather and report information from far and wide. There is little that escapes my notice."

"Sounds like not. Um, there is one thing that's been puzzlin' us, Lord, an' we were thinkin' mebbe you'd know what it was. Some kinda big red spire stickin' up inta th' sky above eastern Mossflower. I'd not be surprised if'n ya could see it from th' top o' yer own mountain."

"Precisely the point. That is Foxguard you have been seeing."

"Foxguard?" Log-a-Log shook his head in confusion. "Naw, that can't be. We was still at Redwall when yer foxes told us 'bout that place, an' it wasn't s'posed t' be anywhere near as big as th' Abbey ... "

"Foxguard on the whole is considerably smaller than Redwall, but its lookout tower is many times the height of Redwall's highest roof peak."

"Wow. I ... didn't know that, M'Lord."

"As I have said, there is doubtless a great deal of news I can give you on recent events. Perhaps tonight I can take you up to the plateau and show you the signal mirror I use to convey simple messages to Foxguard. But first, let us see to your appetites and thirsts ... "

00000000000

Once he agreed to enter into peace talks with Urthblood, Tratton was faced with a dilemma.

There was no question of the Searat King just walking into Salamandastron and delivering himself into the paws of his mortal enemy. This summit must be initiated by a representative authorized to open negotiations on his behalf, until Tratton was satisfied that this was not a trap. The problem was, Tratton had no chancellor or viceroy or prime minister to fulfill this role; as absolute ruler of the searat empire, he did not want to tempt any of his subjects by officially designating them his second-in-command. It would be too easy for a beast in such a position to yield to personal ambitions and seek the throne for himself. It was bad enough that his own queen might occasionally involve herself in intrigue against him ... and if the recent rebellion had had such a figurehead to rally around, their ill-fated revolt might actually have had a chance of succeeding. Any such lieutenant emperor Tratton appointed would have to be competent ... and such rival competence so close to the reigns of power would be too dangerous for his liking.

In the end Tratton settled upon Spymaster Uroza's top intelligence coordinator Korba to serve as his negotiator. Korba was loyal and trustworthy, and his position gave him a unique knowledge of everything that went on in the searat empire. He was well-spoken and a quick thinker, somerat who could surely hold his own in talks with Urthblood, capable of assessing the situation without giving away too much himself. Tratton might have preferred for Uroza himself to face the badger, but the Spymaster and Guard Captain Malvarkiss were two of the few rats Tratton trusted to safeguard the throne from any usurpers during his absence. Those two had to stay behind at Terramort ... which left Korba as the only remaining logical choice for this duty.

It was a testament to Korba's fidelity that he accepted this assignment gladly and without question, knowing full well that it would send him into the very jaws of their deadliest foe. His loss would be felt keenly in Tratton's intelligence apparatus ... but better to lose Korba than Tratton himself, if Urthblood had treachery in mind.

And so the Searat King set out for Salamandastron for the second time in as many seasons, once again using the _Wedge_ as his flagship. The ironclad had delivered him from personal destruction once, and Tratton was counting on it to do so again if things went badly. He named two larger wooden ships, the galleon _Wavestrike_ and the frigate _Darksky_, as his escorts. It would not do for a beast of his importance to show up at his enemy's door without some show of power, and if the fire gulls struck again, at least Tratton would not lose either of his two remaining dreadnoughts. The captains and crews of the _Wavestrike_ and _Darksky_ might have been less than overjoyed by this mission, but were in no position to decline; with the recent shakeups after the failed rebellion, it was impossible to know which crewrats might be Uroza's spies, ready to assassinate a disobedient captain or officer at the drop of a dagger.

Two days out from Salamandastron with most of the tense voyage behind them, the three ships were hailed by a Fleetrunner. Several times since leaving Terramort they'd crossed courses with the small messenger boats, rendezvousing with the tiny craft on each occasion to collect whatever news they could. So far the reports had been encouraging; things were as they should be on the islands of Karnavat and Tagala, ensuring that Tratton's supplies of marble and food crops remained safely out of Urthblood's claws, and there had been several successful raids on woodlander trader vessels, two of which had been seized intact and towed back to Terramort for conversion to warships that could be added to the searat fleet. Tratton had ordered his captains to step up their attacks on trading vessels after Altidor's visit; it was an axiom of war that hostilities often increased during periods of negotiations so that each side could grab what they could before a peace was finalized and they were prohibited from grabbing anymore. It might no longer be safe for Tratton's ships to venture too close to Salamandastron or the coastlands, but he was still the unchallenged lord of the open sea, and he would flex his naval muscle all he wanted out here where there was nobeast to stop him.

Tratton had expected another routine report from this Fleetrunner as well. He and Korba most certainly were not prepared for the tale their ears took in now, about a renegade shrew leader who'd approached the manager of Tratton's west shore mining camp seeking an alliance and claiming he could recover the submarine Urthblood had seized from the searats four seasons ago, and the spyrat of Uroza's who'd happened upon the scene and agreed to give the shrew everything he wanted, including stormpowder and heavy weaponry ... kept under searat control, of course. This was a development the Searat King had not anticipated.

"I know Kothar, M'Lord," said Korba. "He's a good rat, with a good head on 'is shoulders. He wouldn'ta entered into somethin' like this if he didn't have a fair idea what he was doin' ... "

Tratton looked to the captain of _Fleetrunner Five_, a spyrat named Prall. "What is the situation there now?"

"Last I heard, Yer Majesty, th' _Keelfang_'s still moored at th' mine camp dock, but her catapults an' most o' her stocks of stormpowder have been offloaded an' taken inland, along with a score or two of her fighters. Kothar wanted t' make sure he had a big enuff force t' get the job done ... an' t' make sure them shrews don't try anything funny."

"How does Kothar know this isn't some trap of Urthblood's?"

"Well, he figgered there was no way those shrews could've known about th' boat that went missin' last summer unless they'd seen it fer themselves, which lends credence to Urthblood having captured it rather than it sinkin' like we'd always assumed. An' if that badger was targeting our mining camp, why didn't he just send his gulls an' warriors like he did with our lumber mill up north? That's what made Kothar think this shrew was on the up an' up."

Tratton leaned back in his cushioned chair, lips pursed in thought. The three of them were meeting in Tratton's private stateroom belowdecks aboard the _Wedge_; the luxurious quarters were quite close, but the sealord had wanted privacy for this debriefing.

"Now this is precisely the kind of thing I'd hoped to uncover when I had Uroza dispatch his teams into Mossflower. It would seem Urthblood's Northland troops are not as welcome there as he would like us to believe. A division this serious in the woodlander ranks is something I hardly dared to hope we might find. If Mossflower's shrews really are so upset with Urthblood's shrews ... " Tratton turned to Prall. "Sail back down to that mining site and keep your ears open. When you have something noteworthy to report, you will be able to find me at Salamandastron."

"My Lord," said Korba, "don't you want Prall to get word to Kothar to abort his mission?"

"Abort it? When he might be able to trigger a full-scale civil war between the woodlanders, and perhaps recover our captured ship in the bargain? I think not! I could not have asked for a better opportunity. Kothar is doing exactly as I would have him do, and the last thing I want is for him to abandon his efforts. If it turns out badly, all we will lose will be a modest force of fighters. But if it goes well, we can sew chaos and discord amongst our enemies that might take seasons to repair!"

"Yes, but, we can't attack Urthblood's forces in Mossflower at th' same time that we're havin' peace talks with that badger!"

"But it won't be searats who attack Urthblood's shrews." Tratton grinned at Korba. "It will be an army of disgruntled Mossflower shrews, supported by some woodland rats. That's the beauty of Kothar's plan - deniability!"

"Woodland rats? With stormpowder and catapults?" Korba shook his head. "Urthblood will see right through it ... "

The corners of Tratton's mouth turned downward into a dissatisfied frown. Looking to the third rat at the table, he said stiffly, "You have your orders, Prall. You are dismissed."

"Uh ... aye, Yer Majesty." Sensing the sudden tension in the chamber, Prall was only too happy to be gone. Rising from his chair, he gave a half-bow in Tratton's direction and exited with all haste, closing the stateroom door behind him.

Tratton regarded his remaining companion with a gaze of no particular emotion. "Please do not ever disagree with me in front of another beast again, Korba."

Given the circumstances, the spyrat didn't know whether Tratton's use of the word "please" in his bloodless statement made his implied threat more dangerous, or less so. Korba suspected that if Tratton did not need him for the upcoming negotiations, he would be floating in the sea with a blade between his ribs before this day was over. And even if they all made it out of this perilous gambit with Urthblood alive, Tratton was not likely to forget this transgression.

"A ... a thousand apologies, My Liege."

"That begins to cover it. I appreciate that you might have your differences with me, Korba, but in the future you should be more mindful about when and how you express them."

"I misspoke, My Lord. It won't happen again. But, uh, permission to speak freely?"

"By all means - now that we are alone."

"It's just that I'll be the one sittin' across from Urthblood when these talks begin. How am I to negotiate in good faith knowin' what Kothar is up to?"

"Good faith?" Tratton almost laughed. "I somehow doubt Urthblood is going to leave anything to faith, so I'm not either. Besides, until an accord is reached and officially recognized by both sides, there is no peace - just a flag of truce, which applies only to the parties at Salamandastron. I am sure his forces in the Northlands will not hesitate to kill 'vermin' while these talks are ongoing, so we won't blanch at killing woodlanders in Mossflower either. Especially when it will be other woodlanders doing most of the killing."

"And if Urthblood is genuine in seekin' peace, and an accord is signed? Will you recall Kothar then, M'Lord?"

"Of course ... once he has my ship back. I will forestall signing any treaty with Urthblood until I receive word that Kothar has succeeded ... or failed without question. But I will not let slip away this chance to get back what is mine."

"You do realize what a dangerous game this is ye're playin', M'Lord, don't you?"

"Anything to do with Urthblood is dangerous, Korba. But I am relying on you to make the opening moves. In accordance with my original plan, you will still sound Urthblood out for a feel as to whether that badger is being sincere and how safe it would be for me to enter Salamandastron. But now your responsibilities will be twofold. In addition to taking Urthblood's measure, I want you to drag out these talks as long as you possibly can." Tratton stood to rejoin the _Wedge_'s new captain up top, where he could bask in the ocean winds and salty air and feel at one with the sea again. "Buy me time, Korba, and let us see what Kothar can do with it."


	15. Chapter 98

Chapter Ninety-Eight

Time had come for yet another feast at Redwall Abbey, and the eager Abbeybeasts could hardly wait ... even though most didn't have a clue what this feast was for.

The weather that day was a perfect balance between summer warmth and refreshing breezes. Bright sun alternated with brief cloudy spells that provided some breaks from the heat without making things gloomy. As on Nameday, the tables were set up out under the orchard trees so that everybeast could enjoy the feast in shady comfort. These preparations didn't stop some of the youngsters from taking their bowls and plates and cups out of their leaf-shadowed refuge and savoring their ongoing repasts by the pond's edge or up on the ramparts or out on the wide lawns where green grass, red brick and blue sky combined for idyllic bliss.

In keeping with the mystery theme of the feast, every covered plate and serving tray in the kitchens was drafted into service. Many of the courses were delivered to the orchard still in their lidded pots and pans to keep their identities a secret until the moment of their unveiling. This was something of a departure from the way Redwall's feasts usually unfolded, but the Abbeybeasts became completely caught up in it, turning the meal into a prolonged guessing game as they tried to figure out what was in each new dish from the aroma and size and shape of the vessels before they were uncovered. The kitchen staff of course knew everything that was on the day's menu, but they were more than happy to play along.

And for such short notice, Friar Hugh had thrown together a very fine menu indeed. The moles had chipped in two of their massive deeper 'n' ever pies, each presented in its own miniature cauldron and large enough to feed a regiment ... which was a good thing, between the Long Patrol and all the new mouths at the Abbey. Then, naturally, there was an array of shrimp-themed dishes for the otters - pasties and salads and sauces and, of course, the Abbey's single biggest cauldron filled to the brim with the traditional shrimp and hotroot soup. Not to slight Redwall's hare defenders, Hugh also presented a host of carrot-based delicacies ranging from salads to sweet moist cakes. For everybeast else there were more breads and cheeses and soups and salads and, best of all in the opinion of the children, sweets and desserts ranging from blueberry cream tarts to honeybaked apples to gooseberry pie to apple and wild plum crumble to a glorious maple and mint cream trifle. It was safe to say that nobeast there would rise from the tables that day unsatisfied; indeed, after indulging themselves with utter abandon, some would have trouble rising from their benches at all!

No special offering had been prepared for Mona, mainly since Arlyn had kept the real reason for this feast a secret even from Hugh. And so, throughout the day's festivities, not once did the focus of attention fall upon the vixen ... which was exactly as Mona wanted it.

The feast started well before noon, with the games and contests scheduled for later in the day. There would be plenty of time for outdoor activities going well into the evening, owing to the long hours of summer daylight. And the early meal would give the children time to digest before they got to the fun and games. Everybeast well remembered the spate of upset stomachs from the raucous spring Nameday, and none of them wanted a repeat of that incident!

Just enough of a breeze graced the day's proceedings to hold toy boat races on the pond, with the children forming into teams to root on each tiny sailed vessel. The boat belonging to Cuffy, Padgett and the otterbabe Kaydogg reached the opposite shore first, much to the consternation of Vanessa and Droge and Budsock, who'd been convinced that they would emerge victorious.

"What'd we win? What'd we win?" Cuffy demanded to know.

"Prizes will be awarded later," Maura told the youngsters gathered around her. "You'll all just have to wait. This is a mystery feast day, after all."

"Aw, what a gyp!" Droge complained. "Not only didn't we win, but we don't even get t' find out what we didn't win!"

"Don't worry!" Vanessa assured him. "We'll come out on top in the caterpillar climb!"

All morning the Abbey youngsters had combed orchard and garden collecting hardy specimens of the fuzzy brown-and-black caterpillars that always came out in droves at this time of summer. Normally the tiny crawlers were nothing but a nuisance, since the Sparra found them literally distasteful, and they would feast upon the Redwallers' food crops unchecked if they weren't meticulously paw-picked from leaf and stem in their countless hundreds. There was no denying that the butterflies they would transform into were of breathtaking beauty, but for now they were just pests. Except for the children, of course, who never seemed to tire of watching the curious little creatures inching their way over every available surface, be it vertical or horizontal.

It was Cyrus, not long out of childhood himself, who'd come up with the idea of putting the bugs to work for a change. A horizontal bar had been set up on the east lawns with a series of strings dangling from it, one for each youngster. Now the contestants approached this arena, jars and boxes in paw containing their respective tiny gladiators.

Uncapping his jar, Budsock sent up a wail of despair. "Aw, mine's dead!"

"Well, I warned you not to leave it sitting in the sun," Maura said. "Go get yourself another one. We'll wait ... "

When he returned from the orchard with a new and very frisky caterpillar, Budsock took his place in line with the others, poised to start as soon as Maura gave the word.

"All right," the badger matriarch began, "no touching your caterpillar once the contest begins. Blowing on your own caterpillar is permitted, but no whining if your hotroot breath makes it fall off its string. Blowing on somebeast else's caterpillar will result in immediate disqualification. If your caterpillar falls off for this or any other reason, you may start it again at the bottom of the string. I think that about covers it. Okay, may the best bug win! Ready ... set ... go!"

On "go," every child held out their catapillar to the bottom of one string, rows of tiny grappling feet forward to grip onto the dangling twine. Several of the youngsters had to try two or three times before their grub finally found good purchase ... and then the race was on!

Many had bestowed names upon their caterpillars, and urged them on now with great gusto.

"Climb, Cata, climb!"

"C'mon, Mittsy, you c'n do it!"

"No, no, Deebee, you're not s'posed t' eat th' twine!"

"Ahh! Bruce, you fell off!"

"Coom on, Erfle, oi knows you'm be th' bestest, boi okey!"

"No, Tarree, ya gotta keep goin' _up_, not down again!"

After many thrills and much frustration, Droge's caterpillar Cloudy was the first to scale the entire length of its string and reach the top beam. The 'hogchild was ecstatic. "I won! I won!"

"Figures," grumbled Vanessa, "now that we're not on a team together." She retrieved her own caterpillar from the ground, where it had fallen for the fifth time. "Gee, some champion you turned out to be," she said to it, then closed her paw around it, crushing it with a squelch.

"Eww! exclaimed Cuffy, looking on. "She smooshed it!"

Maura was appalled. "Vanessa! That was a living thing!"

The stricken Abbess calmly regarded the goo in her palm. "Not anymore," she observed.

Next up was the paperbird contest. Sister Orellana was skilled in the art of paper folding, and now she used some of Brother Geoff's spare sheets of thinner parchment to demonstrate to the children up on the walltop how these sheets could be shaped to allow them to glide upon the air like birds. Working with the youngsters, she helped them fashion their own gliders. "There! Now let's see whose goes the farthest!"

Cyril and Cyrus stayed down on the east lawns to act as judges. One at a time, each child launched its paperbird from the walltop toward the main Abbey. None made it anywhere near that far, of course, most burying their pointed noses into the earth anywhere from a dozen to twoscore paces from the wall. Since this was all very new to the children, this was not a contest that would favor the strong over the weak. Kaydogg's didn't go very far owing to the otterbabe's youthful lack of coordination, but neither did Droge's or Budsock's, as both tried to overthrow their gliders, using force instead of finesse. Ultimately it was Cuffy's whose went farthest in a straight line, although Vanessa's went off course and landed in the gardens, which were quite far from her launching point. Cyril and Cyrus conferred, then declared the results to be a tie between Cuffy and Vanessa.

"Ha!" Vanessa laughed, calling down to the mouse brothers. "I knew you wouldn't let me down, Cyril! You're my hero!"

"Um, yeah," Cyril muttered, then excused himself to another part of the Abbey as quickly as he could now that this particular contest was concluded and his services were no longer required.

With the afternoon sun low in the sky, the Abbey children were gathered back down on the lawns for the final contest of the day: a Redwall history quiz conducted by Geoff and Winokur. With the youngsters seated around them in a circle on the cooling grass, the Recorder mouse and his otter apprentice took turns asking questions about everything from Martin the Warrior's adventures in the Northlands to the more famous Lords of Salamandastron to Mariel and Dandin's travels in Southsward to the trials of Matthias and his son Mattimeo to which Abbots and Abbesses had been hedgehogs, squirrels and otters. And then there were the questions about all the most notorious enemies these heroes had ever faced, from the wicked wildcat queen Tsarmina to the mad searat Gabool the Wild, the fearsome foxwolf Urgan Nagru, the suave weasel assassin Ferahgo BlueEyes, Matthias's nemesis Cluny the Scourge, the treacherous slaver fox Slagar, the hypnotic marten tyrant Ublaz MadEyes, the mysterious Marlfoxes and more. These questions about legendary creatures were supplemented by ones about famous landmarks and geography, and even the Abbey itself which, from the viewpoint of the younger guessers, was pretty much a separate world all its own.

If any of the children realized this was much the same subject area Geoff usually covered in his dry history lessons, they were too caught up in the mood of the festivities to voice any complaints. Winokur and Cyrus had helped Geoff compile a list of quiz questions that dealt with the more adventurous and romanticized facets of Abbey history that would appeal to their audience, and Geoff and Wink made sure to present them in a carefree style that helped mask the educational side to this contest. And if the moderators went out of their way to make certain each competing youngbeast got a chance to answer at least one question correctly, they took pains not to be too obvious about it.

"Well!" Geoff declared after the last answer was given. "That was a lot of fun, wasn't it? And you all did so well, I think you've all earned prizes for yourselves! Why, look - here comes Sister Orellana now with your rewards!"

The seamstress mouse padded her way across the lawns toward them, bearing before her a large tray crowded with over a score of her custom-made folded-paper sculptures, in the shapes of beasts and birds and flowers and boats and more. Kneeling carefully to avoid spilling any of them, Orellana said, "Okay, there's one for everybeast here. Cuffy, Padgett, Kaydogg, Droge and Vanessa get to pick theirs first, since they all won in some of the previous contests as well. Once they've chosen theirs, all the rest of you can take yours. And don't worry - every one's a good one!"

It took awhile, mainly because Cuffy and Droge had a hard time deciding which of the magnificent origami works to claim for themselves, but at last all the paper sculptures were distributed, and every child had one. Budsock pointed at the tray. "Hey, there's one left over!"

Orellana nodded. "That's for Metellus. Even though he didn't participate in any of the games today, he's been working so hard in the Infirmary studying with Mona lately that I felt he deserved one too. I'll go take this to him now." She stood with the now mostly-empty tray, looking on with satisfaction as the delighted youngsters studied and poked and pulled at their fragile prizes. "Oh, and one more thing," she announced. "Since this is a mystery feast, there's one last surprise for all of you. When you're finished playing with your sculptures, each one unfolds to reveal your real prize written inside!"

Droge wasted no time in tearing apart his mock belltower to find out what he had won. "Yay! I got a belltower puddin'!"

"Which Friar Hugh will personally make for you anytime you request it," Orellana said. "Although if I were you I'd wait at least a day or two, after all you've had to eat today!"

Budsock was quick to follow Droge's example, unfolding his own paper badger to glimpse his clandestine reward. His smile of anticipation turned to a disappointed frown as he read the words. "'One new habit, shirt or pair of sandals?' Aw, I hate gettin' clothes as presents!"

"Well, hang onto that," Orellana quickly cautioned, afraid the impetuous young squirrel might crumple the paper up and discard it. "If somebeast else gets a prize they don't care for, perhaps they'll want to trade with you ... "

"Burr hurr, oi wun a trip to 'ee Rivvur Moss," said Padgett. "Oi doan't be loikin' watter nor long walks muchly, so oi'll trade wi' 'ee, Buud."

Squirrel and mole swapped papers, to the immense satisfaction of both. Maura looked to Orellana. "I don't know who the lucky beast's going to be who gets to take Budsock on his day trip, but whoever it is will certainly have their paws full!"

"Don't I know it!" The seamstress looked to the young dormouse, who stood regarding the folded rowboat in his paws with a perplexed expression. "Why the long face, Cuffy?"

"Well, I wanna find out what I won, but I don't wanna wreck th' boat either ... "

"Oh, that's no problem at all! Here, I'll show you how to unfold it carefully, so that you can see what's written inside, and then refold it so you'll still have your boat."

Droge thrust forth his mangled former belltower. "Can y' fix mine too?"

"I'm afraid you may have torn it too badly when you opened it, my young fellow. But if you really want, perhaps I can make you another someday ... without a prize inside of it, of course. In the meantime, you'll be enjoying one fine belltower pudding!"

"Which I _hope_ he'll see fit to share with his playmates," Maura hinted strongly.

"Nope! Gonna scoff it all m'self, jus' like a hare!" Then, shrinking a bit under Maura's withering glare, the 'hogchild added meekly, "Well, m'be I'll let Bud 'n' Nessa have a spoonful each ... "

As Maura herded all the children down to the pond's edge to get them washed up before bedtime, Orellana remarked to Geoff, "It seems so strange, hearing those young rips calling her 'Nessa.' That's what _we_ called her when we were all growing up together!"

"Yes, it is a very odd situation," Geoff agreed. "But then, from her point of view, I suppose she's growing up all over again. That's assuming, of course, that the bump she took on her head isn't going to keep her like this permanently. She's certainly not like the Vanessa I knew when we were both youngbeasts!"

"Don't I know it! But what's really remarkable is how the other children have accepted her into their circle, even after knowing her as their Abbess for most of their lives. Although, with all the mischief she's been causing, maybe we'd all be better off if they hadn't!"

"Oh, I don't know if it would make much of a difference in her case," said Geoff. "I know she's been a bit of a bad influence on the others, but she finds trouble perfectly well on her own without any help. Yesterday all the other children were in class while she was out giving Maura fits, and I can attest to that."

"Oh yes." Sister Orellana stifled a giggle. "You don't want to know how tempted I was to make a special prize just for Vanessa, for 'Bluest Sundial!'"

00000000000

Cyril and Cyrus were in the orchard with Smallert, helping to collect and clear away the feast dishes and utensils. The sun was completely down by now, but the long summer twilight provided an ample silvery glow for the Abbeybeasts to work by without needing to light torches or lanterns.

Cyril turned around from depositing an armful of dirty dishes onto a cart only to find himself face to face with Vanessa. The Abbess wore a slyly beguiling smile on her face, and held her unfolded paper rose in one paw.

"Oh no," Cyril muttered under his breath.

"Aren't you gonna ask me what I won?" she asked coyly.

"Um ... okay," Cyril said with uncertainty. "What'd you - "

Before he could even finish, Vanessa threw her arms around him. "This!" she squealed, and kissed him full on the lips, most aggressively and for a very long clinch. Cyril was too taken aback to do anything but stand there and accept this amorous assault without resisting.

After many rapid heartbeats, Vanessa broke away and stood back, regarding the target of her affections appraisingly. "Hmm. You're not a very good kisser, are you? Well, we'll just hafta work on that!"

"You ... you did _NOT_ win that!" Cyril stammered in accusation.

"Sure I did! Here, see for yourself!" Vanessa thrust the creased sheet into Cyril's paw. Squinting to read it in the fading light, he saw that the fancy calligraphed words "one fortnight without chores" had been hastily crossed out and "one kiss from Cyril" had been messily scrawled in below that. "See?"

"Vanessa!" Maura called from the orchard's edge. "Get over here and stop bothering Cyril!"

"Yes, Mother Maura!" Vanessa called back in a singsong voice. "Well, Cyril, see you in my dreams!" And with that she scampered off toward the waiting badger matriarch.

Cyrus and Smallert watched the afflicted Abbess prance away. "She's totally mental!" the younger mouse brother declared.

"Aye," said Smallert, "an' she's got it hard fer Master Cyril. Ye're a marked mouse, Cyr lad!"

Cyril was still trying to catch his breath. "She's ... she's ... totally gone off the deep end of the pond!"

"Yeah, don't I know it," said Cyrus. "You should see the way she carries on in Brother Geoff's classes sometimes ... when she even bothers showing up. So, Cyr, what's it like kissing the Abbess?"

"I ... don't wanna talk about it."

00000000000

Maura soon had all the Abbey children - including Vanessa - washed and in bed for the night. After the long day of feasting and activities, not even the favorite summer evening pastime of collecting fireflies could keep the exhausted youngsters' interest, and most were content to be herded up to their dormitories and tucked in for their nocturnal slumbers.

The adults were not far behind. The accumulated pots and cups and dishes and utensils were set to soak overnight in soapy water; the Redwallers usually ate lightly if at all on days following such grand feasts, so the dishwashing chores could wait until morning.

Many slept late the next day, making their first appearances well after sunrise. A simple spread of biscuits and wafers was put out on the tables in Great Hall, along with pitchers of cool mint tea and blackberry fizz. Most Abbeydwellers helped themselves to a few sips and nibbles to energize themselves for the coming day, then they took turns helping with the massive clean-up efforts in the kitchens. Lunch and dinner would have to be similarly austere affairs, taken straight from the stores, since virtually no leftovers remained from the feast - a phenomenon that had become the norm ever since the Long Patrol had settled at Redwall.

An hour before noon, many of the Abbeybeasts gathered at the east wallgate to see Mona off on her way to Foxguard. Winokur would accompany her, as had been decided the day before the feast, but so would Alex and Mina, representing Redwall's leaders and the Gawtrybe respectively. And Colonel Clewiston had decided it was high time he had a close look at Foxguard for himself, since he still did not entirely trust those swordsbeasts. Melanie was not due to deliver until much later in the season, so Clewiston felt he could leave his wife in the good paws of his fellow Long Patrol and Redwallers for what would hopefully be a brief sojourn on his part. Sergeant Traughber and the former otter slave Tourki rounded out their travelling party, since they would need some extra brawn to row their ferry barge against the currents upriver to Foxguard.

"I almost wish I could be going with you," Arlyn said to the group, "for I am sure Foxguard must be a marvelous place now that it is finished, or nearly so. But, I am needed here, and anyway I fear my own travelling days are well behind me. It's almost enough to make me envious."

"That makes one of us," said Geoff from alongside the Abbot, glancing up over the walltop at the tower of the swordfox stronghold. "You'd never get me up to the top of that thing, I can tell you that. Guess I must have some mole blood in me."

"Well, you _do_ spend a lot of time down in those archive tunnels," Winokur mildly teased, eliciting a sour, over-the-top-of-the-glasses look from the historian.

"Well, Mona," Arlyn went on, taking the vixen's paw in his own, "I hope you enjoyed your last day with us. It certainly turned out to be a good one, as it worked out," he added with a wink.

"Yes," she replied equally knowingly, "I'm glad there was so much else going on yesterday that nobeast was able to make a fuss over me. But if that was to be my official sendoff from Redwall, I could not have asked for a nicer one."

Metellus stepped forward and hugged Mona, tears glistening in his eyes. "I know you hafta go, but I still wish you weren't."

She patted him softly on the back, the young badger's shoulders coming nearly up to her own. "You have been a better student than any I ever could have wished for, and I will always cherish the time we had together. But Abbot Arlyn must take over as your teacher now. I am sure he will be a good one, and under his tutelage you will blossom into one of the most accomplished and capable healers Redwall has ever had. I have faith in you, Metellus. Never flag in your purpose and dedication, and remember always the things I have taught you, and then it will be as if we are still with each other."

"I'll do my best. But I'll still miss you."

"And I you." Vixen and badger hugged one last time, then parted for good. "But that's what visits are for, right? I'll be living just across the river, less than a day's journey away. We'll be able to visit each other often."

"You know our gates are always open to you," Arlyn said to Mona, "especially after all you've done for us. And I am sure that many of us here will take up Tolar on his standing invitation to visit Foxguard, even if I myself am not one of them. We are neighbors now, after all."

Montybank gazed skyward; the clouds were more prevalent than on the previous day. "Yore gettin' a late start. Hope th' weather holds fer ye."

"We should reach the river by early evening," said Alex. "Then we'll decide whether to camp there overnight or press on to Foxguard by raft."

"We've all got our travel cloaks," added Mina. "A little rain won't hurt us, if it comes, and if there were anything more serious on the way, we would have felt it by now."

"Not necessarily," said Geoff. "I'll always remember that monster of a storm we got last summer. Balla didn't even feel it in her spikes, and that's unheard of!"

"I'll keep our Sparra flying high," Arlyn said, "and have one of them fly out to warn you if it looks like we're in for severe weather. You don't want to be caught out on the open river in a thunderstorm!"

"That will be appreciated, Abbot. And now, before the day grows any later, we should be off ... " Mona bowed and, with the two Long Patrol hares leading the way, their company set out into the summery green thickness of Mossflower, waved off in a fond farewell by Abbeybeasts standing outside the east wallgate and lined up along the battlements to pay their respects to the healer vixen who'd served them all so well.


	16. Chapter 99

Chapter Ninety-Nine

"What kind of fish is this, M'Lord? Ain't never tasted anythin' quite like it."

"It is crab. Dangerous and bothersome creatures. When I returned to Salamandastron last summer, I thought that perhaps I could reach some kind of agreement with them, but all my attempts to communicate with them proved futile. If they have any language at all, it is not one that I have been able to decipher. And they have injured and killed a number of my mice and shrews. In the end I decided that their threat outweighed any benefit they might have presented, and I ordered my troops to slay any they encounter on the beach. Their meat is quite flavorful, and we collect it so as not to make their deaths totally without practical use."

Log-a-Log and some of his shrews were taking lunch with Urthblood in the main dining hall of Salamandastron. The shrew chieftain studied the meaty white chunks on his plate before him with a new appreciation. "That dangerous, huh? Some o' my lads're outside pokin' 'round th' mountain an' coastlands nearby. Think they're in any jeopardy?"

The Badger Lord shook his head. "There were never any crabs to be found on Salamandastron itself, and we've pretty well cleared out the closer expanses of the beach. There is always the chance that one might wander up onto land from the sea, but I suspect it would know better than to molest a band of shrews."

"I hope ye're right, Lord." Log-a-Log sampled another morsel of the delectable crab meat. "So, are y' really gonna parley with th' searats?"

"That is up to Tratton. He has shown an interest in negotiations, and the fleet which approaches now is not even half the size of the one that attacked last season. Nevertheless, I shall have to keep my forces on high alert in case he has some manner of treachery or deception in mind."

"But, what would be th' point o' talkin'?" Log-a-Log asked. "They'll not hold t' any agreement y' reach with 'em anyway ... "

"Tratton knows he has too much to lose if he violates the terms of any accord he signs. I have destroyed six of his biggest warships in the past two seasons, and he realizes I will continue to visit destruction upon his forces if he does not seek a peaceful end to this conflict."

"Then why meet with th' villain at all? Why not just keep th' war goin' 'til you've crushed him completely, an' done ev'ry goodbeast alive a favor?"

"Because every battle with the searats costs the lives of many good creatures as well, and Tratton still has many rats he can spare to waste in such contests. I would not even be able to carry this war to him at sea without assembling a navy of my own. I might grapple with Tratton on his own territory for seasons or even years without ending his threat. Besides, there are things that can be won through negotiations that cannot be won through warfare."

"Oh?" Log-a-Log said skeptically. "Like?"

"Last summer I rescued your own son from a life of slavery. Many other beasts were not so lucky, and still toil to the point of collapse under searat whips. The tactics I have recently adopted against Tratton would doom most slaves on board any ships I engaged. This route will, at the very least, spare them their lives ... and perhaps more than that."

"Hm. Well, it's yer war, so I guess I'll leave you t' fight it as you see fit. All I can say is, I doubt I'd ever give that rat in shrew's clothes Snoga the benefit o' th' doubt you seem willin' t' give Tratton. Not after that stunt he pulled at Foxguard. I allers knew he was trouble, but I never thought he'd try anything like that!"

"I am considering talks with Tratton because such a course might prove more advantageous than the alternative. I would never consider negotiations with Snoga - and I would urge you to do the same - for the simple reason that he has nothing to offer. He is a criminal who attacked and slew creatures in my uniform without provocation, and if my troops ever apprehend him, he will be executed for his crimes. He poses no threat to the lands greater than any other brigand and his gang of thugs, and will be dealt with accordingly. The only choices facing him now are punishment at my paw or a life as a fugitive who shuns the light of day and dares not show his face to any civilized creature ever again."

"You still hunting him, I take it?"

"My forces in Mossflower are on the lookout for him, and will remain so until he is accounted for. There was a report around the first of summer that he was sighted in the vicinity of Doublegate, but it proved to be unreliable. When one of my birds flew out to investigate, there was nothing to be seen. I am sure he hides still in the depths of lower Mossflower, licking his wounds from his defeat at Foxguard. It is even possible that his own followers have slain him by now for leading them into such a disaster. That is often how such beasts behave."

"Yah, well, I happen t' know that not alla Snoga's shrews're bad sorts - mainly 'cos all of 'em, includin' Snoga 'imself, used t' be under my leadership in th' Guosim. In fact, that's one o' th' reasons I came this way, Lord." Log-a-Log set down his utensils and turned to give the badger his full attention. "Lately we been havin' some trouble with them Northland shrews o' yers, an' I was hopin' you might be able t' do somethin' 'bout it ... "

"Trouble? Of what sort?"

"Well, it ain't somethin' a beast can easily put a paw on, mind. It's more their attitude. Been noticin' it since b'fore leavin' Redwall, an' ev'ry time since that we've run inta them. Kinda pushy, kinda superior, kinda like they feel they own th' whole o' Mossflower an' those of us who were here before 'em - even th' Redwallers an' us Guosim - 're second class citizens. Ain't exactly th' kind o' face yer soldiers should be puttin' forward in a strange land if they're lookin' t' win support from th' native populace ... if y' don't mind me sayin', Lord."

"I was not aware of this. Do you believe these feelings are widespread?"

"Widespread 'nuff that another score or so o' my Guosim defected after we stopped by Doublegate. Yer Cap'n Tardo didn't even wanna let us down in that searat ship - an' we was there when you captured th' blasted thing! That stuck in their craw so bad that they defected from th' Guosim an' went off in search o' Snoga t' join up with 'im. 'Course, we didn't know 'bout Foxguard at th' time, but still, there's a few more in my ranks right here who might still consider defectin', or worse yet, challengin' my leadership fer not standin' up t' yer shrews. Somethin's gotta be done, M'Lord. Yer Northanders need t' be reminded they're guests here in Mossflower ... or else Snoga might not be alone in opposin' ya."

"My forces are of course only here to help maintain the security of Mossflower. I admit that tact and diplomacy are not the strong points of Captain Tardo's brigade, and their dedication to my cause may seem a bit overzealous at times, but they are goodbeasts honest and true. You know how shrews can be, being one yourself. I will have a word with Captain Tardo once my business with Tratton is concluded, and see if we can address your concerns in a meaningful way. I do not want friction and bad feelings between my troops and the very creatures they are striving to assist."

"Thank you, Lord. That'd be mightily 'preciated."

Captain Matowick strode into the dining hall. "My Lord, we've got a ship pulling up - looks like she means to anchor just offshore."

"One of Tratton's?"

"No, My Lord. Trader vessel."

Log-a-Log looked to Urthblood. "You get a lot of those stoppin' by?"

"Not a single one in the three seasons I have sat on the throne of Salamandastron." The Badger Lord rose from his large chair at the head of the long central table. "I suppose I'd better go see what this is all about."

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Captain Ramjohn of the trader ship _Goodwill_ was a mouse with the spirit of a badger dwelling inside him. Large and sturdy for his species and grizzled from his seasons at sea, a chunk missing from his left ear as a result of a run-in with searats in his youth, he could almost pass for a searat himself. There was nothing on land or sea that he feared, and he commanded the respect and loyalty of crewbeasts twice his size. As he boasted to anybeast who would listen, "I named my ship the _Goodwill_ 'cos we carry the goods, an' we got the will to get through anything nature or those scurvy sea raiders put in our way!"

Lately, however, even this most courageous of woodlander trading captains was having a rough time of things. It was for this reason that Ramjohn had taken the rather extraordinary step of seeking out Urthblood in the badger's own stronghold. While his fellow mouse and otter and hedgehog captains were succumbing to Tratton's stepped-up raiding campaign left and right, he wanted to see if there was anything he could do about it.

"This situation's gettin' way outta paw, M'Lord. We lost more ships so far this season than we did last autumn, winter an' spring put t'gether. An' I happen t' know this is a direct result of the pressure you been puttin' on Tratton with the losses you've inflicted on him. Now don't get me wrong, I'm happy as anybeast t' know there's searat warships an' their crews lyin' in Davey Jones' locker who'd not be there otherwise, but you gotta appreciate how hard this whole thing's makin' it for us seafarin' creatures who're just tryin' t' eek out an honest livin' on time 'n' tide. Something's gotta be done, or soon there won't be a single free merchant vessel left on th' high seas!"

After coming ashore in a dinghy with his otter boson Chobor and a few of his crew, Ramjohn had joined Urthblood, Log-a-Log and the Badger Lord's captains in Salamandastron's dining hall. Such a visit was a rarity, and Urthblood wanted to extend Ramjohn a full diplomatic welcome.

"You say something must be done, Captain, and I assume from your presence here that you mean for me to be the one who must take this action. So, what would you have me do?"

Ramjohn seemed somewhat taken aback by Urthblood's directness; the mouse skipper was accustomed to being blunt himself, but not to having such a manner deflected back at him, and had hardly expected such forthrightness from one of the legendary Lords of Salamandastron. "Well, uh, you're th' one who started this. We were hopin' you'd be able t' finish it too ... "

"We are in the middle of a war," Urthblood said to the trader mouse. "I have had all I can do to drive Tratton from these shores, which must be my primary consideration. Even before this war started, Tratton dominated the sea lanes, and any goodbeast vessel that dared to ply those waters did so at her own risk."

"Yeah, maybe so, M'Lord, but there's no denyin' that those risks've gotten lots riskier of late 'cos of your war. Almost like Tratton's goin' outta his way t' cause us extra trouble in retaliation for his losses suffered at your, er, paw." Ramjohn's gaze unwittingly went to Urthblood's iron-capped right wrist.

"Of course this would be his strategy. He has lost not only ships but his primary source of timber for replacing them. Naturally he would seek to make up for those losses in the ways that are still available to him."

"Well, then ... " Ramjohn placed both paws on the table before him. "You admit it yourself, this's all a result of what you've started ... "

"War brings hardship to all," said Urthblood. "And make no mistake, Tratton was engaged in a war against the creatures of the lands long before I ever struck back at him. In the slaves he keeps, in the camps he builds on the mainland, in the many trader ships he looted even before the present hostilities. If I had not stood up to him, his power would only have continued to grow, and eventually you would have faced the same situation as now, with or without my involvement."

"Maybe so, but now is what we got now, an' there's a lotta seabeasts who're sufferin' as a result o' this war, M'Lord. I'm here on behalf o' alla them, askin' your help in this matter. Either pull back, or protect us, but don't leave us all alone stuck in th' midst of this mess on our own!"

"If I do not demonstrate to Tratton my willingness to prosecute this war to the very point of his destruction, he will be emboldened, and then every honest beast on land or sea will be worse off than before. As for offering my protection to trader vessels, that will be most difficult since I am without a navy of my own, and Tratton's sea power is such that any troops of mine that I put on your craft will be lost along with the ships and the rest of their crews. The best I could do is have my gulls guard trader vessels that hug close to these shores on their voyages, but even that will not guarantee their safety. Tratton has many warships, and I cannot be everywhere at once."

Ramjohn's mouth twisted down. "Was kinda hopin' for somethin' more than that. I mean, you _were_ able t' destroy some of his ships last season ... "

"Only because they were foolish enough to come within striking range of my newest weapons and allies. I would be hard pressed to duplicate such a victory at sea, far from my own seat of power and in the heart of Tratton's ocean domain."

"I see ... " The mouse tapped his pawtips against the tabletop. "I guess that's that then ... "

"Not necessarily. You mentioned before the possibility of me 'pulling back' so that Tratton is under less pressure, and might feel less inclined to raid your ships as aggressively as he has been ... "

"You said that'd only embolden him ... "

"It might ... or it might not, if he is led to believe his only choices are cooperation or total destruction. But in order to make sure he knows where things stand, it would be necessary to enter into direct negotiations with him, to avoid any misunderstandings. Then, the treatment of your ships could be included as an item on the agenda."

"Negotiations?" Ramjohn scoffed. "Well, when you put it that way, I guess it does sound pretty silly. That tyrant wouldn't be one t' bargain, an' I can't imagine what creature would be willin' t' parley with him anyways."

As if on cue, Lieutenant Perricone strode into the dining hall and approached Urthblood at the head of the table. "My Lord, the sails of the two searat ships have been sighted from the plateau. They should be here by nightfall."

Ramjohn stiffened in his chair, as alarmed by this news as by the apparent lack of concern on the part of Urthblood and his officers. "An attack?"

Urthblood looked at the trader mouse with a mien of perfect calm. "Not unless they seek annihilation. This will be the negotiating mission Tratton told us to expect."

Ramjohn stared at the badger open-mouthed.

"There appear to be two ships, just as Commodore Altidor reported," the female Gawtrybe lieutenant went on. "Neither one a dreadnought."

"Tratton will not be on either of those, if he is with this delegation at all." Urthblood already knew from his birds' offshore surveillance that these two traditional wooden ships - one galleon and one slightly larger frigate - were accompanied by at least one of the Searat King's steel vessels, perhaps the very one that had taken part in the ill-fated assault on Salamandastron the season before. After that defeat, it was a safe bet that Tratton would never again venture anywhere near the mountain fortress in any vessel that could be set on fire.

"Please have Altidor fly out to those ships to inform their captains that they are expected, and the truce will be honored as long as they do nothing to violate it. Also, make sure they are aware that the _Goodwill_ is just a visiting merchant ship, and poses no threat to them."

"Right away, My Lord." Perricone saluted and withdrew from the dining hall.

"Um ... er ... shall I have th' _Goodwill_ moved, M'Lord?" Ramjohn inquired of Urthblood. "Don't wanna be in th' way or cause any hassle ... "

"I do not think it will be a problem, Captain."

"Ah. Well, it's just that I'm not exactly keen 'bout findin' myself trapped 'tween th' shore an' two pirate ships - 'specially after all that's been goin' on lately."

"Feel free to depart if you feel that is in your best interest," said Urthblood, "although in all honesty I cannot imagine anyplace along these coastlands that will be safer than where you are currently anchored. And I would have thought you might want to sit in on these talks, since their outcome will have a direct bearing on the very matters you came here to discuss."

"Uh, that's a thought, yeah ... "

"If it would make you more comfortable, I can have Captain Matowick station some of his Gawtrybe squirrel archers on the _Goodwill_, perhaps along with a few of Captain Saybrook's otters. That should be enough to discourage the searats from making any moves against it."

"That'd be appreciated, M'Lord."

Urthblood looked to Matowick and Saybrook. "Please see to this. We must put all of our guests at ease, be they searats or trader mice."

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"So, whaddya think o' all this, Matty? This makin' peace-talk with Tratton?"

Saybrook and Matowick paced down the tunnels leading away from the dining hall, on their way to carry out Urthblood's orders. There was always the outside chance that the very act of deploying Gawtrybe and otter warriors onto the _Goodwill_ might be the thing that provoked an attack on the trader vessel, but odds were they'd prove a sufficient deterrent, and Ramjohn had seemed accepting of the idea.

"I think it stinks," Matowick replied, "but Lord Urthblood seems to think Tratton might be sincere in this overture, so I suppose we should sound it out before we carry on with this war."

"Tratton's overture?" Saybrook looked askance at his squirrel counterpart. "Ain't y' got that backwards, Matty matey? Seems t' me t'was Lord Urthblood who opened these talks ... "

"What? That's not what he told us ... "

"He hasn't come right out an' told us one way or th' other," Saybrook said. "I can't help noticin' he's been dancin' 'round th' subject of just who t'was who initiated this whole business. Shore, he's been makin' it sound like it was Tratton's idea, like that rat was beggin' fer peace talks t' escape another clobberin', but he's not come right out an' said it. But where d' you think Altidor disappeared to fer all that time?"

"You're saying that eagle flew all the way to Terramort?"

"Never had a chance t' tell y' this, but me 'n' me otters were out fishin' fer them greedy gulls by dawn's first light th' morn Altidor left, an' that eagle flew straight out t' sea with a gull at either wing. If they wasn't headed fer Terramort, can't imagine where else they'da been goin'."

"Are you sure?"

"Shore as me own eyes, Matty. An' 'member how Urthblood's always goin' on 'bout negotiatin' from a position o' strength? Now, accordin' t' that thinkin', if t'was Tratton who agreed t' this first, that'd mean that rat saw some advantage t' doin' so ... which means Urthblood prob'ly woulda told that tyrant t' go soak 'is scaly tail in a bucket o' bait! But if Urthblood's th' one pressin' 'em on Tratton, then that'd make more sense, an' fits with Altidor flyin' out t' sea an' th' way everything else's been unfoldin'."

"Hmm. You may have a point there, Saybrook. But, if these negotiations are to our advantage as Lord Urthblood sees it, then what's the worry? We know we can beat Tratton if he threatens these shores again, so we come out ahead either way."

"Mebbe ... but I'm still not so sure 'bout this. We know searats ain't trustworthy, an' after all th' terror an' destruction they've visited upon these coastlands, why should we let 'em off with some treaty? More to th' point, what's Urthblood gonna give 'em t' convince them t' stop this war?"

"Give them? It's the searats who stand to lose a lot more than we do if this war continues. They'd be fools to pass up a chance for a negotiated peace that would spare them their remaining ships!"

Saybrook shook his head dubiously. "I dunno. Seems t' me it'd take more'n that t' bring Tratton to th' bargainin' table. Either Urthblood threatened 'em with total annihilation, an' made Tratton believe it, or else Tratton thinks he's gonna get somethin' outta this ... an' I'm wonderin' what that might be."

"Lord Urthblood wouldn't give that seabutcher anything worth a pile of sand. I'm more worried about what you said in regards to the searats' trustworthiness. Even if some agreement is reached that ends this war, how can we know Tratton will abide by the terms we set?"

"Don't reckon Urthblood plans on trustin' Tratton one whit. 'Tween th' alliance with th' gulls an' th' way he's built up our defenses here, I don't think that badger's gonna abandon th' ways o' th' warrior anytime soon ... which makes sense if he's gonna let Tratton keep 'is fleet. What crimps my rudder a bit is how he's goin' about this. He musta known when Altidor came back that Tratton'd agreed t' these talks, but he waited days after that 'fore he let us captains in on it. Like he didn't trust us or somethin' ... "

"Well, maybe he was just waiting until he knew for sure that Tratton was on his way, either from his birds or through his prophetic vision. You have to admit, after all we've been through with those searats, you and I aren't the only ones in this rock who have questions about this strategy. But, if there's even the slimmest hope that they can reach an agreement that'll prevent any goodbeast from ever again suffering the kinds of horrors we endured on our winter march back to Salamandastron, or keeps any more woodlanders from ending up in searat chains, then I say, go for it!"

"Hm. Yore mighty forgivin', fer a beast who'll prob'ly have ringin' in his ears fer th' rest o' yer seasons as a result o' what them searats did t' ya. Don't reckon most o' me otters'd be half so understandin'."

"Lord Urthblood rules this mountain, and this is his war to fight or to settle as he sees fit," said Matowick. "You and I have served him for many seasons, and we know better than anybeast how he always works for the future rather than the present. This won't be the first time he's followed a course that has left the rest of us scratching our heads, but it's always worked out for the best in the end, hasn't it? He knows things no other beast alive can know, and we've got no business second-guessing him."

"Always works out fer th' best, eh? You weren't here fer th' battle last summer ... "

"What do you mean? He defeated his brother and won sole Lordship of Salamandastron ... "

"Aye ... an' he also lost most o' his Infantry down in th' rat 'n' weasel ranks ... six captains, includin' Machus an' me good pal Bremo ... an' th' full trust o' Redwall with that whole Browder thing. Sometimes I wonder whether he came out ahead or behind in that mess, even with Salamandastron under 'is paw ... th' one he's still got, anyways."

"I've ... never heard that interpretation before," Matowick stammered, not sure what to say. "But you must agree that the way things have turned out are best for the lands. With these new weapons Tratton's got, Lord Urthfist and the Long Patrol never would have been able to stand against him. Salamandastron would have fallen to the searats, and then where would we all be right now?"

"As opposed t' what we got, with them bein' invited in as guests, without havin' t' fight their way past our gates ... "

"You're starting to sound almost as bad as King Grullon! When that feathered windbag found out Lord Urthblood has no intention of attacking the searat ships that are almost here, I thought he was going to explode! That was one miffed seagull!"

"Well, you ain't ever had yore brother or auntie scoffed by them seascum. An' as fer the way things've turned out, Matty, I'd say they're still very much turnin'. I got th' feelin' we're all smack in th' middle o' what's unfoldin', an' this whole play's still got an act or three t' play out yet."


	17. Chapter 100

Chapter One Hundred

It was a large logboat fleet that made its way off the big inland lake into the river system of southern Mossflower. Every one of Snoga's True Guosim who'd survived Foxguard was part of it, along with the more recent defectors from Log-a-Log's camps. Their ranks were bolstered by many solitary woodland shrews who'd joined Snoga's cause, and even a few of the otters too. In all, nearly two hundred and fifty beasts set out to confront Urthblood's shrews, every one of them a creature who'd had unpleasant encounters with the badger's Northlanders. Snoga had gone all out to whip up their dissatisfaction into an indignance that bordered on intolerance, and an agitation that verged on battle lust.

Tasnuva and most of his tribesbeasts elected to stay behind. He felt their place was here on these familiar shores, not off fighting a battle that wasn't truly theirs. The lakeside shrew chieftain was beginning to have second thoughts about Snoga, and wasn't about to commit to a possible war with a Badger Lord.

"Pah!" Snoga spat at Tasnuva upon learning that his fellow shrew chief steadfastly refused to join their expedition, although secretly he was relieved. The deception he had planned would be difficult enough to pull off just with his most loyal followers at his side. "Well, we got enuff willin' beasts here t' get th' job done without ya, so we don't need ya!" And then the logboat caravan turned west toward the same outflowing broadstream that had delivered Snoga into this alliance with the searats in the first place.

That alliance was still very much a secret to everybeast in this force except for Snoga, his three companions who'd survived their trip to Gormillion's seaside mining camp, and the searat trio themselves. Kothar and his two cohorts stuck to their false woodland rat personalities at all times, and Snoga helped them out by isolating them as best he could. Snoga himself kept Kothar at his side in the prow of the lead boat, while the other two seavermin shared a logboat with the only three shrews to know their true identity ... as well as the threescore shirts and jerkins they'd confiscated from the island water rats.

"They're fer Kothar's tribe," Snoga had explained back at Castle Marl when any of his shrews questioned why so many of the water rats' clothes were being rounded up and packed for this journey. "A goodwill gesture ... a token of our friendship ... somethin' they was demandin' as a show o' good faith," he answered variously, and these somewhat contradictory explanations seemed to satisfy the curiosity of his more inquisitive followers. "They wanted some new clothes, an' since our shrew garments wouldn't fit 'em, these'll hafta do th' trick!"

Snoga was quite proud of his ability to put off unwanted questions with made-up reasons. It was one of the qualities any real leader must possess.

Having just come this way recently, Snoga had a fair idea where to put ashore before they drew too near Doublegate. Picking a sloped spot along the south riverbank where trees grew almost to the water's edge, Snoga shouted back along the file of logboats and waved for them to land on these sheltered shores.

"What're we pullin' up here fer?" Gomon asked caustically. "Ain't our enemy on th' north banks o' this broadstream?"

"Yah, they are," Snoga snapped back. "But Kothar's rats - our allies, 'member them? - are off t' th' south o' here a ways. We gotta link up with 'em 'fore we can show them Northland bullies what's what. So, we'll leave our boats hid here under th' trees where it'll be easy t' remember where we stashed 'em. Half our force'll stay here t' guard 'em an' wait fer word t' move. Th' rest'll come with me - " Snoga threw a glance Kothar's way, " - an' then we'll find out if these rats're all they're cracked up t' be."

"Do we really need 'em anyway?" Gomon challenged, looking over their assembled strike force as one logboat after another was hauled up onto the shoreline. "Seems t' me we got all th' paws we need t' cause them shrews a whole lotta grief."

"You ain't seen th' size o' that fort they got, Gomon. An' we ain't just lookin' t' cause 'em some minor hassle here - our aim's t' let 'em know they ain't welcome in these parts, show 'em we're willin' t' fight if they push us to it, an' get 'em on th' run back t' where they came from! Trust me, we'll be needin' these rats. They're residents o' these woods too, an' they're just as fed up with Urthblood's pushy ways as th' rest of us!"

Two of the otters in Snoga's force exchanged glances. "Never seen anybeasts who argue 'mongst themselves like this crew!"

"Whaddya expect? They're shrews ... "

"I dunno, matey. Even fer shrews, this is a cantankerous gang."

Snoga pointed their way. "All you waterdogs, you'll stay here t' help Gomon an' th' rest keep an eye on th' boats. Now lemme get t' choosin' who's gonna come south with me t' link up with Kothar's clan, 'fore this day gets any older ... "

Late morning had turned to early afternoon by the time all the logboats were hidden away under the trees where they would not be visible from the air. Snoga didn't know how hard Urthblood might still be looking for him. It had been risky enough taking his entire force out onto the open river, even though they only travelled at night and hid in the forest by day as much as they could. They'd made a point of passing Holt Toor in the dead of night so that none of those otters who'd guarded the searat vessel for Urthblood over the winter might note the True Guosim's presence and try to alert Doublegate. Perhaps Neskyn's clan had grown as tired of the pushy Northland shrews as anybeast, but they'd helped Urthblood once before, and they might very well be inclined to do so again, no matter how they felt about the badger's shrews. This fight would be hard enough without unforeseen help coming to their enemy's aid.

Snoga selected roughly half his longtime shrews to accompany him on his march to rendezvous with Kothar's main force. He left behind his trusted lieutenant Kellom to make sure Gomon and the newer recruits didn't cause any trouble in his absence, and to quell any dissent or last-minute reservations amongst his patchwork army. It would take several more days to pull this whole thing together, and he didn't want to return to his beached fleet only to find a large portion of his force had deserted or decided they didn't want to fight this battle after all.

With Kothar and the other two rats at his side, Snoga set out on a southwest course through the thick woods of lower Mossflower. The going was rough, with several brooks and at least one jagged ridge lying in their trackless path. Now that they had the forest canopy to hide their passage, they'd march during the day and sleep at night so as not to suffer injuries on the unknown terrain. Snoga also wanted to memorize the way so that he'd be able to backtrack to rejoin his army without too much trouble. He assumed Kothar would remain with his catapult teams, although the finer points of this operation had yet to be worked out. As long as he had the searats' stormpowder to work with, however, Snoga was confident he could emerge victorious in this scheme.

They marched until evening dimmed the forest to a murky gloom, and then set camp amongst the trees and dense underbrush as best they could. They'd encountered few other creatures along the way so far, mostly hedgehogs and voles, none of whom seemed the type to go running off to warn Urthblood's shrews. Most likely the simple folk who dwelt in these rustic parts wouldn't even know the difference between Urthblood's shrews and Snoga's. The True Guosim leader had already been through these woods with Kothar on their way to the big inland lake, and it appeared none of the badger's influence had yet made itself felt this far south. All of this shrew-against-shrew intrigue would be a total mystery to the local creatures, and thus they would have no idea what Snoga's presence, or the inclusion of rats in his entourage, could possibly mean.

This hadn't stopped Kothar from wanting to slay these "witnesses" outright to keep word of their column's passage from spreading. Normally Snoga might have been inclined to join the slaughter himself with his stolen searat blade, but circumstances put him in the position of playing peacemaker for a change.

"Ye're s'posed t' be a woodland rat, 'member?" Snoga hissed at him so nobeast else would hear. "How'd it look t' my shrews if you started slayin' everybeast we meet? 'Sides, in woods this thick, fer ev'ry creature you see there might be two or three others lurkin' nearby ... an' if ye're worried 'bout witnesses _now_ ... "

With the lingering vestiges of the long summer evening fading around them and their simple dinners settling in their stomachs, Snoga took the spyrat aside once more. The three seavermin had bedded down somewhat apart from the shrews, but that wasn't the only reason Snoga spoke to them now without fear of being overheard. Most of their company had not slept since the day before, and were exhausted. Loud shrew snores already started to fill the forest even before night fully fell.

"How much longer 'til we get there?" Snoga asked.

Kothar shrugged noncommittally. "Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after. As you yourself pointed out earlier, these woods're hardly my home turf."

"Well, I gotta know when t' send yer other two rats ahead with th' clothes. Don't want me troop 'ere stumblin' inta a nest o' searats when they're expectin' t' be meetin' up with woodland rats like you. Those rags hafta get there far enuff ahead o' us so yer rats've got time t' change inta them. Otherwise, this whole masquerade's kinda pointless ... an' our alliance will be dashed on th' rapids, 'cos my shrews won't work with searats!"

"Not knowingly, you mean," Kothar said with a cold smile. "Don't worry. Starting tomorrow, I'll be sendin' out my rats - and your three shrews who are in on this - ahead to get there before us."

"Why my three shrews too?"

"You can't expect two rats t' carry threescore shirts an' tunics 'tween just the two of them, can you?"

"Naw, guess not. Just hope they don't go off course an' end up gettin' lost or waylaid. Be just our luck fer us t' reach yer troops first."

"I've got bigger things to worry about. These woods're thicker than I imagined. There's no way we'll be able to haul two catapults through this. If we don't find a wide trail we can follow, we might have to abandon 'em and do this some other way."

"Lotsa trails an' paths throughout Mossflower," Snoga assured his searat ally. "With a little scoutin' 'round, we should be able t' pick up one that'll suit yer needs."

"Our needs," Kothar reminded him. "We're in this together now, lest you forget."

"Not yet we ain't. I've kept up my end o' th' bargain, deliverin' you all th' troop-power yer'll need t' get that underwater contraption o' yers back. When I see ya got what I asked fer, an' we're takin' on Urthblood's shrews shoulder-t'-shoulder, then we'll be in this t'gether, an' not a moment before!"

"As you say, shrew," Kothar muttered softly as he lay back and closed his eyes. "As you say."

00000000000

The telling moment had come.

All three searat ships lay at anchor off Salamandastron, the galleon _Wavestrike_ and the frigate _Darksky_ flanking the _Wedge_ on either side, their prows pointed at the mountain fortress. Both of the larger vessels carried catapults and stocks of stormpowder, since Tratton had decreed that all his warships must do so, although the Searat King knew from experience how ineffective such weapons would be against this natural stronghold. The delegation fleet made a point of positioning themselves beyond arrow range of the tideline. If this was a trap and Urthblood meant to unleash his gulls on them, there was little they would be able to do about it, but they would not make it easier for the rest of the badger's forces.

Some of those gulls could be seen even now, wheeling and crying above and around the plateau. Their mere presence was unnerving, even if none carried any of Urthblood's terrible weapons slung under them. No doubt this was some strategy of the Badger Lord's to remind his negotiating partners what they would face if things went badly during these talks.

Ramjohn's trader vessel the _Goodwill_ had been moved off slightly to the south, so that the squirrels and otters standing at the ready on her decks would not be seen as a threat to the searats. The mouse captain stayed with his ship until he saw that the seavermin did not mean to attack or try to seize the _Goodwill_ right off. He'd told Urthblood he would sit in on these negotiations, but there would be plenty of time for him to join the others inside the mountain once he was satisfied his ship was not in any immediate danger.

The three searat vessels had waited until nightfall to make their approach, taking up their final positions under cover of darkness. Dawn revealed the delegation force from Terramort faced off against the stronghold of its diplomatic adversary.

A landing boat from the frigate pulled up alongside the _Wedge_, crewed by a score of rowers and fighters who would serve as Korba's bodyguards right up to the gates of Salamandastron ... and past that point, if it could be arranged. A gangplank was lowered down from the Wedge, and Korba descended it from the ironclad to the rowboat. Settling into it, he gazed back up at his ruler.

"Remember everything we discussed," Tratton called down to his negotiator. "See what Urthblood has to offer, and report back to me when you can."

"Yes, Yer Majesty." Korba gave the signal for the rowers to bear him shoreward.

Captains Saybrook and Mattoon awaited the landing party just above the tideline. The sun had yet to clear the mountains behind them, so the clear blue sky above lay over a coastal plain painted with the crystal grayness of pre-sunrise. The two captains comprised the entirety of this reception committee; otter and weasel had the beach in front of Salamandastron to themselves.

"'ere they come," said Mattoon. "Wonder how this's gonna turn out ..."

"We're 'bout t' find out, I reckern," Saybrook responded.

The landing boat grounded with a gritty crunch of heavy wood on wet sand. Four of the rowers, suspiciously eyeing the two woodlanders, leapt from the craft into the knee-high surf and hauled it fully up onto dry land. The rest disembarked, weapons at the ready as they lined up into a living corridor through which Korba could pass to reach his greeters.

"Take it you ain't King Tratton," Saybrook said when the searat negotiator stood facing him.

"Viceroy Korba," the rat said by way of introduction, using the title Tratton had recently assigned him. "I am authorized to open these talks on His Majesty's behalf."

Mattoon nodded toward the three ships riding the gentle summer swells out beyond the breakers. "Tratton out there?"

"His Majesty will join these talks if they progress to his satisfaction," Korba replied, sidestepping the question. "And, whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"I'm Cap'n Saybrook, an' this 'ere's Cap'n Mattoon. Lord Urthblood figgered you'd be more at ease if there were just us two t' meet you, an' with Mattoon bein' a weasel an' all ... "

"Isn't that risky, puttin' two of his captains out here all alone?"

"He's got more," Mattoon said levelly. "'Nuff t' get the job done."

"I guess he must. Now, am I to be escorted inside alone to meet with Lord Urthblood, or can I bring some of my rats here for security? We would still be vastly outnumbered by your own forces."

Saybrook swept his gaze over the assembled searodents and grimaced. "Bring all of 'em or none of 'em - whatever's yore pleasure."

"Um ... all of them, then." Korba turned to his contingent and motioned for them to accompany him. Looking back to Mattoon and Saybrook, he said, "Lead the way."

As they passed from the shimmery blue-gray morning into the shadowy recesses of Salamandastron's main entry hall, its gates thrown open in welcome or defiance or both, Korba could not help but wonder whether he would ever pass back out through them. His qualms were hardly soothed by the sight which greeted him within. On every available ledge and natural gallery overlooking the entrance stood dozens of the Gawtrybe squirrel archers. Some held their longbows at the ready while others staffed wheeled carriage weapons that were not anything Korba could immediately identify but which were clearly designed to inflict massive casualties upon any unwelcome force. The expressions on those squirrel faces were far from friendly, and their cold gazes never left the rats for a heartbeat.

"This isn't very trusting," Korba commented, keeping his voice calm through his dry mouth.

"They're for - how'd you put it? - our security," said Saybrook. "You take yore precautions, an' we'll take ours, eh?"

00000000000

If Mattoon and Saybrook's welcoming of Korba had gone well, all things considered, the situation was not unfolding quite so smoothly elsewhere in the mountain.

"Lord Stripedog give King Grullon weapons to drop on searats! Give weapons now!"

The seagull king was making a spectacle of himself in the middle of the dining hall, unleashing a tantrum of such proportions that Log-a-Log and Matowick and the other onlookers could only gape in wide-eyed amazement. Urthblood stood before the raging bird, impassive as always.

"I cannot do that, Your Majesty. This is a peace negotiation. We must give it a chance to succeed."

"Stripedog make friends with enemy of seagulls? Then King Grullon his ally no more!"

"Be reasonable, Your Majesty," Urthblood said, his tone a statement rather than a request. "Your own kin stand to benefit greatly from this turn of events. It could mean an end to the searats ever again preying upon seagulls for food, and an end to your birds dying in battle in this war as well."

"Stripedog traitor! Stripedog promise we kill searats, burn their boats, then go back on word!" "I have done no such thing. You have had the chance, due to me, to strike hard at Tratton and cause him great losses. If these talks fail, you may have further such opportunities in the seasons to come. But for now, you must not interfere."

"Give Grullon weapons now!" the gull king cried, his voice so loud and shrill in the cavernous chamber that many paws went up to cover their owners' ears.

"No."

"Give weapons, or King Grullon take back all his gulls, leave stripedog none!"

"Then it would be you who would be going back on your promise."

Grullon lunged forward, sharp beak stabbing at Urthblood's eyes. As if it were nothing, the hulking warrior reached up with his left paw and deftly caught his attacker's bill in a visegrip before it could meet his face. Giving a twist to drive home his point, he said, quite calmly, "If you ever try anything like that again, I will snap your neck. Majesty."

And then he literally threw Grullon backward by his beak, depositing the royal avian roughly upon the stone floor, tailfeathers first.

For the moment, Grullon's humiliation outbalanced his anger, and he spun upon his webbed talon to stalk out of the dining hall, taking one of the stairways that led up to the roof of the mountain.

Matowick stepped forward. "My Lord, are you all right?" he asked, rather unnecessarily, for it was obvious that Grullon had gotten the worst of their encounter.

"It is fortunate that altercation took place before Tratton's representative arrived. If the searats suspected a division between me and my gull allies, these talks might be doomed."

"Shall I post guards to make sure he doesn't break in and disrupt the conference?" the Gawtrybe captain asked.

Urthblood gave a long, lingering glance the way Grullon had gone. "No, that will not be necessary. He will not be back ... "

Matowick's mind moved onto another dilemma as the meaning of what he'd just witnessed sank in. "But, My Lord, what if he does go through with his threat to withdraw all his gulls from Salamandaston? They're the only way we have of striking at Tratton's ships! Without them, we might not be able to repel the searats' next assault."

"That will not be a problem," Urthblood stated with absolute assurance. "Like many rulers, King Grullon has lost touch with his subjects. His bombardier gulls have lately been spending far more time with me than with him ... and I think he might grievously overestimate the influence he still exerts over them."

00000000000

A short time later, Korba and his score of searat protectors were ushered into the dining hall by Mattoon and Saybrook. Urthblood greeted Korba with genial formality and bade him to sit in the chair reserved for him. The other searats took up positions along the walls. It had been many badger generations since any vermin contingent so large or well-armed had seen the inside of Salamandastron ... but there were two Gawtrybe present for every searat, in addition to Urthblood and his captains. The seavermin still weren't sure whether or not they'd walked into a trap, but they knew it would be suicide to start any trouble here.

"I'm surprised you allowed my rats to keep their weapons, M'Lord," Korba said to Urthblood once they were all settled in.

"They are your bodyguards, after all," the Badger Lord replied. "They could hardly be expected to protect you without their arms ... not that they will be needed here. You are my guest for these talks, under my protection as well as theirs."

Korba cast a glance at the Gawtrybe scrutinizing him from all sides. "So I see." Switching his gaze to the faces along the table, he said, "I did not expect so many beasts to be taking part in these negotiations, Lord. I can't help but feel somewhat outnumbered here."

"Then allow me to put you more at ease with some introductions. You have already met my otter captain Saybrook and my weasel captain Mattoon. Joining them are Captain Matowick of my Gawtrybe squirrels and Captain Abellon of my mice. The falcon at the far end of the table is Captain Klystra, representing my bird forces. I am sure you can see that they would all have an interest in these proceedings."

"And the rest?"

"This mouse here is Ramjohn, captain of that trader vessel you saw anchored outside when you arrived. He came here just before you did, to express the concerns of his fellow seatraders, and will represent their interests in these talks. And the shrew seated alongside him is Log-a-Log of the Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower, or Guosim. While he is hardly in a position to speak for all the creatures of Mossflower, he can at least lend a woodlander perspective to this summit that would otherwise be lacking, and voice questions that might not occur to the rest of us. I assume you have no objections to Ramjohn and Log-a-Log joining us in these discussions?"

"I was given to understand that the purpose of these negotiations was to end the war between you and King Tratton, not to consider a dozen different points of interest ... "

"If any kind of lasting and meaningful peace is to emerge from this summit at all," said Urthblood, "these points must be taken into consideration. A peace that leaves the two main adversaries satisfied but turns a blind eye to the continued suffering of third parties is no kind of peace at all."

"I am only concerned that their inclusion might complicate things to the point where it will be impossible to satisfy anybeast, and then these talks will amount to nothing."

"We will have to wait and see if that becomes the case, and if so, address the matter at that time. But I do not foresee a problem. I did not go to all the effort of having you here so that this summit could fail. I am confident we can reach a balance that leaves nobeast here wanting."

"Or nobird either, I take it. Um, I don't see any of your seagulls here, M'Lord. I'd think they'd have a great stake in this too ... "

"Seagulls are outdoor creatures, and that is where mine are now - as you no doubt saw on your way inside. Your master has seen what they can do, and must know that I can unleash them again with very little notice if he has not come here in good faith."

"We would not be here on his behalf if His Majesty did not have a genuine interest in a peaceful settlement to our differences," Korba assured the badger, again choosing words that might leave doubts as to whether Tratton was even aboard any of the searat ships currently anchored off Salamandastron. The Searat King would not wish to make his presence known until Korba could find out far more than he knew now.

"That is good," said Urthblood. "Then we should be able to proceed in good time."

"And, I can't help noticing that you don't have your shrew captain here either. I'd think this would be of especial interest to them, being the boating beasts that they are ... "

"All of my shrews are currently stationed elsewhere," Urthblood told the searat negotiator. "But their interests are mine, so their absence from these talks will not be an issue."

"As you say, M'Lord." Korba clasped his paws on the tabletop before him. "So, where do we begin?"

00000000000

Up on the bowl-shaped plateau of Salamandastron, King Grullon carried on with his tantrum, hoping to find a more sympathetic audience in his own gulls than he'd had downstairs in the mountain.

"Find rocks, heavy shells, driftwood!" the seagull ruler exhorted to the birds around him, whilst Urthblood's small unit of mountaintop sentries looked on in growing alarm. "If stripedog not give us weapons, we find our own! Grab heavy things, drop them on searats! Attack ships, kill searats now!"

Altidor perched upon the crater rim, watching as Grullon sought to whip his subjects into a frenzy. One sturdy gull traded a steely-eyed glance with the golden eagle, then stepped forward to face Grullon.

"No. We not attack searats."

Grullon snapped his beak at the contrary seagull. "You shuttup, Scarbatta!"

"Captain Scarbatta," the other gull corrected. "Lord Urthblood appoint me captain, now I command all gulls in squadron. Lord Urthblood order us not to attack searats, so we not attack."

"Traitor Scarbatta, you die! Gulls, slay Scarbatta!"

Grullon himself hopskipped toward the offending bird, wings aflutter and beak ready to stab, assuming that he would be just one of a myriad of gulls to surge forward and strike down the disloyal Scarbatta.

No other gull came to Grullon's aid.

"Gulls, attack!"

If the flock had acted deaf to Grullon's command, they reacted instantly to Scarbatta's. For these were the birds that had trained under Urthblood for the past season and a half, learning for the first time in their lives discipline, self-respect and the true ways of the warrior. They were battle-hardened, having actually fought the searats while Grullon had merely stood back and claimed those successes as his own once victory was assured. Urthblood was absolutely correct in what he'd told Matowick down in the dining hall: Grullon had no comprehension how militarized the gulls he'd "loaned" to the Badger Lord had become. Urthblood was their master now, and anybeast - or bird - who challenged him was an enemy. Even their own king.

Scores of warrior gulls converged on Grullon, overwhelming the monarch from all sides and leaving him no avenue of escape. Their thrusting beaks and clawing talons did their work quickly, and soon Grullon was no longer the king of anything.

00000000000

Out at sea, two lookout rats aboard the frigate _Darksky_ stood scrutinizing Salamandastron, speculating between themselves what degree of success Korba might encounter in his meeting with Urthblood, when both saw a figure tumble from the north side of the plateau and plummet down the steep cliffs, its fatal plunge interrupted only here and there by bone-shattering collisions with jutting outcrops and rock shelves.

"Hey, didja see that?"

"Yeah. Looked ... kinda like a bird with alla its feathers plucked out ... "

"Didn't fly too well without 'em, eh?"

"Harr harr! Naw, that it didn't, matey! That it sure didn't!"


	18. Chapter 101

Chapter One Hundred and One

Hanchett was on the hunt again.

After many days of fruitless searching led the vengeful hare to doubt he was on the right track after all, a stroke of good fortune restored his sense of validation. A family of rabbits, mistaking him for one of their wayfaring cousins before realizing their error, remained talkative enough to reveal that they had, some unspecified number of days before, witnessed a group of four shrews and three rats heading east through these woods. Hanchett wasn't sure what to make of this report, but this was the second time in the young season that he'd seen or heard of shrews and rats travelling together, and it could not be coincidence. Thanking the timid rabbits for their assistance, he set out in the direction they pointed him.

The second day after his encounter with the rabbit family, Hanchett hit pay dirt, again as much by happenstance as anything. He'd been unable to pick up any trail of the party he sought, but his quarry decided to oblige by finding him instead.

Hearing a bustle and commotion from the forest ahead, Hanchett went to ground so that he could observe the approaching creatures without betraying his presence. As he hunkered in a wild cloudberry thicket, he saw two rats and three shrews, all bearing large bundles of clothing, come stumbling through the trackless woods. And then they were past, leaving Hanchett to wonder and puzzle over this latest wrinkle in his quest.

"Hmm ... th' four bally shrews an' three rats've become three jolly shrews an' two rats. Still, that's gotta be some o' the same gang those bunnies told me about. Unless it's some kind o' blinkin' new fashion, rats 'n' shrews runnin' about together. Those shrews were wearin' the Guosim headbands so they could be part o' Snoga's rabble ... unless they really were Log-a-Thingy's shrews. But wot would either of 'em be doin' consortin' with rats? Those vermin I just saw weren't prisoners - seemed t' be leadin' the bloomin' way, in fact. Might be some o' Urthblood's rats, I s'pose - they were dressed more woodlander-ish than anything. I gotta admit I'm stymied, stumped an' properly flummoxed. So, only one thing t' do: follow 'em, an see where they go. That's wot I'm out here for, wot?"

And so, keeping to a low crouch and flitting from tree to tree, Hanchett set out in pursuit of the three shrews and two rats bearing their cumbersome burdens through the southernmost reaches of Mossflower Woods.

00000000000

At the end of the first day's negotiations, Korba and his protective entourage left Salamandastron to rejoin the anchored searat fleet, politely declining Urthblood's invitation to spend the night in the mountain. Korba really had no way to disguise the fact that he was withdrawing to consult with some unseen superior out on these boats, but there was no help for it; Tratton would demand a report on how the day's proceedings had gone, and in any event the astute Badger Lord would have guessed by now that his searat nemesis lurked out here beyond the breakers.

The false viceroy and his master met, as would become their custom in the days ahead, in Tratton's stateroom aboard the _Wedge_. The debriefings would be private, face-to-face affairs, with no other rats present.

"Is it a trap?" the Searat King asked, lavender-and-green gaze as cold as the snow-capped peaks of Icetor.

"If it is, Your Majesty, it's exceptionally well-prepared. Urthblood seems to have a legitimate agenda fer these talks all worked out, and he's apparently willin' to discuss these items past th' point of any reason. Today's sessions ran practically from sunrise to sunset, an' we barely delved into the substance of the issues at all!"

"Words ... just words. He could be making them up as he goes along, to lull us. That wouldn't take much preparation on his past at all."

"P'raps not, M'Lord, but there was also the sense I picked up from his captains an' many of his other soldiers. If this is a trap, they aren't in on th' scheme. I'm certain of it. They, at least, believe these talks are fer real, no matter what Urthblood's really on about. If he's gonna pull anything here, he'll be pullin' it on his own beasts as much as on us."

"Which I still wouldn't put past him. On the positive side, he is playing into my strategy of dragging out these negotiations until I have a chance to hear how Kothar is faring. He's practically doing your job for you in that regard, Korba!" Tratton flashed his underling a grin that was clearly not meant to be returned. "While you were inside, somebeast - a bird, apparently - was seen to fall from the north side of the mountaintop. Do you know anything of this?"

Korba shook his head. "When ye're deep inside that place, Sire, it's like ye're cut off from th' outside world. No way of knowin' what's goin' on beyond whatever chamber ye're in, unless it happens to have windows facin' that way. There was no mention of anything unusual happening outside the mountain. What kind of bird was it?"

"We were too far away to tell for sure. Perhaps it was just some wild bird that happened across Salamandastron and was set upon by Urthblood's seagulls. We know those winged nuisances are territorial and nasty-tempered. And if that badger's been training them as warriors, they'll have skills and confidence they've never had before. That would spell trouble for any of their fellow birds who cross them." Tratton sighed. "It's probably of no significance, but I like to know everything that goes on when the stakes are as high as this. There is only one question now that really matters: Is it safe for me to enter Salamandastron?"

Korba gazed at Tratton for several heartbeats, face blank, then shook his head. "That's impossible to answer at this point, Your Majesty. I'll need several more sessions to observe Urthblood and his troops before I can even begin to have any hope of establishin' that, and even then that badger's true purpose may remain a mystery."

"Take all the time you need, Korba, since that fits with my own plan. If Urthblood wants to drag this out, all the better. Just what did you and he talk about all of today, anyway?"

"Oh, he found about fifteen diff'rent ways to relate th' whole history of conflict between badgers an' searats, invokin' names an' battles I'd never heard of before. A few times I almost forgot I was listenin' to a warlord, t'was like he'd become some teacherbeast giving a lecture."

"Did anything of substance come out of today's session at all?"

"In a nutshell, M'Lord, Urthblood claims he's prepared to recognize you as the true an' legitimate ruler of the seas, and wants to hammer out a framework of agreements over where his power ends and yours begins. Once it's all agreed on, both sides will observe the rules set, and there'll be no more need for war. And, uh, he has dropped some very strong hints that he's ready to yield some concessions to get this done."

"His bird who came to me at Terramort was speaking more in veiled threats than veiled concessions; that was the main thing that brought me here. I would be very surprised if he's willing to surrender anything that would be of interest to me."

"Well, at least I got him to admit that all his shrew fighters are elsewhere. That concurs with what that rebel Mossflower shrew told Kothar. Then again, if they're all guardin' our submersible Urthblood's got stashed away down there, might make gettin' it back pretty tough."

"You said yourself that Kothar was a good and capable rat. Now we get to see just how good he really is."

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When the rats and shrews he was tailing decided to stop for the night, Hanchett did likewise. The hare still had no idea that a much larger group was coming up behind him, and that he had in effect put himself between two forces of his enemy. His only thought was for the quintet in front of him, and not letting them out of his sight. So, he found himself a sheltered spot close enough that he'd hear his quarry if they stirred in the night, and settled down for a light sleep with one eye open and one ear cocked.

The shrews and rats roused themselves at first light, and barely bothered with breakfast before they were on the move once more. With the symphony of dawn birdsong filling the gray morning forest around him, Hanchett resumed his stealthy pursuit.

He walked right into the ambush before either he or his ambushers realized what was happening. One moment he was shadowing five beasts lugging their burdens alone through the woods, and the next he was suddenly face-to-face with at least twoscore searats encamped around the two catapults he'd previously spotted being hauled across the wastes below the Western Plains. Any thoughts of lingering there to observe further were chased from his mind by the arrow that thudded into the ground beside him, grazing his footpaw. Not all of the searats were gathered around the siege weapons; a few were stationed among the trees all around the catapults, sentries to guard against just the manner of intruder which had uncovered them now. At least one of them had spotted Hanchett, and the hare wasn't about to stick around long enough to become a living pincushion. Turning tail, he sped off into the woods as fast as he could without running into any trees or obstacles that might put an abrupt and fatal end to his flight.

Hanchett didn't stop to check whether any of the seavermin were giving chase. Arrows had a long range, even in the dense forest, and the same tangle of trees and underbrush that might impair the archers' aim also prevented Hanchett from bobbing and weaving as much as his instincts and training screamed at him to do. And there might be more of those lethal sentries hidden up in the leafy boughs farther out from the main encampment. Hanchett knew he had to get as far from the scene as fast as he could if he wanted to get out of this alive.

He wasn't sure how far he ran back the way he'd come. He'd just been over that territory, and knew that it held no nasty surprises like a cliff or a river that might cut off his escape or a bog that could swallow him up forever. Or any hostile creatures, for that matter. But, just as the winded hare was growing confident that he'd outpaced any potential pursuit, he blundered right into another company of what was easily threescore shrews.

For many moments hare and shrews simply stood staring dumbly at one another, neither making any move. Hanchett saw immediately that these were the same kind of shrews as the trio who'd been making toward the catapults with their bundled garments; the colored headbands and traditional Guosim dress were apparent at a glance. But these were no Guosim - the figure marching at their forefront gave lie to any pretense that these might have been goodbeasts.

Snoga!

"Hey, it's one o' them Long Patrol hares!" the belligerent shrew chieftain roared even as Hanchett dove into the undergrowth to his left. "After 'im!"

With his natural hare speed and ingrained training of eluding foebeasts, Hanchett should have been able to rapidly put distance between himself and the hostile shrews. However, this was where his luck ran out. In his headlong flight from this second menace, he stooped to avoid a low-hanging branch ... but didn't see the hornets' nest dangling from the bough's underside until his head smacked into it. Hare and hive both hit the ground together.

Momentarily stunned by the impact against his forehead, Hanchett was quickly brought back to the present by the angry buzzing that filled the air around him, and burning lances of sharp pain in several parts of his body. Any hope of keeping his whereabouts a secret was dashed as he shot up, swatting at the swarming stingers tormenting him and yelping in agony. Taking no heed of the direction he chose, Hanchett dashed away from the cloud of agitated insects ... straight back the way he'd come.

Two of the shrews tackled him, bringing Hanchett down a second time before he could dodge or aim any defensive kicks their way. He struggled to throw them off, but before he could, more of the diminutive creatures piled on top of him, immobilizing Hanchett so that he could neither flee nor reach any of his weapons. He was caught, and most likely about to be killed - that much was plain even through the mental confusion and pain of the hornet stings.

And then Snoga himself was standing over the writhing mass of hare and shrews, looking on with approval. "Ah, good! You was able t' capture 'im alive! Now we can question him an' find out - _OW!_" Snoga slapped at his neck where one of the straying hornets had stung him. Hanchett had not had time to get completely clear of the downed nest before he'd been taken down himself, and now some of the angry insects had arrived on the scene, as content to vent their displeasure upon the shrews as on the hare who'd dislodged their homestead.

"Yeeowch! Quick, let's get this flopears back out to th' main trail, away from these madwings, 'fore they harpoon us inta a coma! Grab 'im up an' foller me! An' keep yer blades pressed t' his vital parts - those hares'll give ya th' slip if'n y' just blink fer too long!"

00000000000

Hanchett knew better than to offer any more than token resistance as he was half-pushed and half-dragged back to the spot where he'd first encountered Snoga's gang. After seeing them in action at Foxguard, he knew full well that these bloodthirsty shrew savages would not hesitate to kill him if he put up too much of a struggle. Even in his present bee-stung state, there was no question that he could put up enough of a fight to take several of them with him. But Hanchett resisted this temptation; after more than half a season of fruitless tracking, he wanted to find out just where these ruffians had been hiding themselves so that not even Urthblood's birds were able to find them. And then there was the matter of those searats he'd almost run straight into. There were things going on here that demanded answers, and Hanchett couldn't get those answers if he were dead.

For better or worse, there were apparently things that Snoga wanted to find out from him as well, otherwise he would not still be alive. Hanchett's suspicions were confirmed as soon as they were back on the main trail with all the other shrews. As some firmly bound his paws behind his back while others kept their blades pressed against him, Snoga commenced his interrogation.

"Awright, bunny, if y' wanna live past this instant, you'll answer my questions, an' answer 'em true!"

"Hey, wouldja mind tellin' your sawed-off runtfaces t' mind my welts? I'm a casualty here, don'tcha know ... "

"Gimme any more o' yer harelip, hare, an' I'll make sure y' get welts on top o' yer welts ... an' mebbe an extra smile 'cross yer throat too, unless y' tell me what I wanna know. Now, how many o' you bobtails're trailin' us, an' where's th' rest of 'em?"

It might have violated both common sense and his Long Patrol training, but Hanchett could not resist hitting Snoga with the truth. In a fit of malicious pride, he burst out, "There aren't any others! There's just me, huntin' your no-good, scrawny skintails all th' way from Foxguard t' here!"

"Ah! So you admit t' bein' part o' that force that was chasin' after us, murderin' us from th' shadows like cowards?"

"There never was any force, you thick-headed, muck-pawed, snaggle-toothed, craventailed criminals! There was only me th' whole entire bally time, an' it did my heart a world o' good with every one of you despicable despots I put outta Mossflower's misery, after th' way you struck down th' Abbess of Redwall with your verminous treachery!"

"Was that really th' Abbess?" queried one of his guards who'd been present at the battle with the swordfoxes. "An' was she really killed?"

"Yah, that was her," Hanchett grunted, "an' she looked pretty dead t' me, lyin' there from th' stone you villains put in her skull!"

"No more o' yer lies!" Snoga growled, aiming a swift kick at a particularly nasty-looking hornet sting on Hanchett's thigh. "You can't expect anybeast with a brain in its head t' believe t'was you an' nobeast else givin' us so much grief after we got put on th' run!"

"Well, since you ain't got a brain in yours ... " Hanchett grimaced at another painful kick from Snoga, and turned a baleful glare toward the irate shrew chieftain. "You believe wot you want, but d' you really think any o' you would've escaped with your worthless, flea-ridden hides if there'd been more'n one of us after you? We're th' bally Long Patrol, after all. An' once Urthblood's forces got in on the chase, you wouldn't've stood an icicle's chance in summer! So, just where've you felonious frighters been hidin' yourselves all this time anyway? Pulled a first class disappearing act, I'll give you that. Tho', if there'd been more'n just this one hare after you, you'd prob'ly not have stayed hidden, wot?"

"Wouldn't you just like t' know." Snoga stood back, thinking furiously. If this hare was telling the truth, it could be a better break than any he could have hoped for. Their one and only pursuer, now in their paws ... nobeast else lurking out there that they'd have to worry about. It would be worth the ignominy of being put on the run, picked off one by one and being made to seek sanctuary in the remote safety of Castle Marl if they could be certain they were no longer being hunted. But could they be sure? Or was this treachery on the part of this fanatical, insolent hare? Given what Snoga knew of the Long Patrol, he wouldn't put it past them to cover for each other in such a manner.

Kothar strode forward to examine the captured hare. Hanchett glared up at the incognito searat, not having noticed the creature before. "I see you're keepin' company with beasts more in keepin' with your character these days, wot?"

"How charming," the rat smiled, drawing a cloth from one pocket of his bartered otter's tunic and deftly looping it through Hanchett's mouth and tying it behind the hare's head as a gag. "I don't think we need to be hearing anymore from this overgrown rabbit until we get to where we're goin'."

"Mebbe we oughta jus' kill 'im here, an' save ourselves th' hassle o' draggin' him through th' forest," Snoga wondered.

"Something tells me this hare might still have a thing or two to tell us ... perhaps under more, ah, persuasive conditions," said Kothar, leaving little doubt as to his meaning. "Besides, it's always nice havin' one of your enemies as a hostage. Never know when such a bargainin' chip might come in handy, eh?"

00000000000

A short time later, the bound hare was at the head of the column that emerged into the small covered clearing where the searat catapults and their tenders awaited. Hanchett's eyes went wide with surprise, and only the gag in his mouth kept him from exclaiming out loud.

Every rat here had exchanged its pirate's clothing for simple woodlander garments!

"Ah, now ain't that a sight!" Snoga declared, turning to his fellow shrews. "See, I toldja Kothar's tribe wouldn't let us down, didn't I? Look, they've got heavy siege weapons, an' some o' that boomin' powder they stole from th' searats, just like I promised! Urthblood's shrews won't stand a chance 'gainst us now!"

Hanchett's eyes went even wider at this audacious display of bald deception. Stolen from the searats? What kind of ruse was Snoga trying to pull here? Those rats and shrews carrying the bundles ahead of Snoga's main group had obviously been delivering these disguises to the searats so that they wouldn't look like searats by the time the others arrived ... which clearly meant that some of Snoga's shrews were in on this, and some were not. Hanchett had no doubt that Snoga himself knew what was going on here, and exactly the stripe of creatures with whom he was dealing.

Hanchett began murfling and mawmfing at his gag, drawing the attention of the shrews around him. One, who was not privy to Snoga's conspiracy, removed the gag, thinking the hare was either suffocating or had something very important to say.

"I say, wot're all these flippin' searats doin' dressed up like decent sorts?" he blurted before anybeast could stop him.

Snoga turned on him savagely. "These ain't searats! Didn'tja hear what I jus' said? These're woodland rats who're gonna help us get rid o' Urthblood's rabble!"

"Funny, they sure looked like searats when I saw 'em a short while ago, 'fore they had a chance t' change inta - ugh!"

Hanchett fell forward, stunned by the blow of Kothar's truncheon to the back of his head. The spyrat met the gazes of the shrews around him unflinchingly with a grin that was half innocent and half predatory.

"Don't pay no mind t' that one," Kothar said. "He didn't know what he was talkin' about. Still delirious from all those hornet stings, no doubt."


	19. Chapter 102

Chapter One Hundred and Two

Winokur was enjoying his stay at Foxguard. But now, on the second day of the Redwallers' visit, the time had come for them to undertake an adventure which filled the novice otter with equal measures of dread and anticipation: a trip to the top of the lookout tower.

Now that the tower and its observation deck were completed, it would have been unthinkable for the Abbeybeasts not to make at least one foray to the summit of that impossible edifice during their time at the swordfox fortress. Of course, such a sense of obligation could not totally overcome some trepidation about the venture. This would be the farthest above the ground that any of them had ever been, and the idea of being up so high on an open balcony with only a waist-high wall between them and a dizzying fall to the earth below was just a little unnerving.

"It's really not that scary," Roxroy assured Winokur as they all gathered within the base of the tower. "You're going to be so far above the countryside that it almost won't seem real ... more like a living map that's spread out all around you. As long as you don't look straight down, you should be fine. You'll see what I mean when we get there."

The party making this day's ascent included Roxroy and Tolar, who would serve as the Redwallers' guides, along with Winokur and Colonel Clewiston. Alex and Mina would be making the climb too, in their cases literally, since the two squirrels wanted to take the long winding staircase so they could stop to look out some of the windows. So, they got a head start while the others headed for the elevator.

Clewiston regarded the wood platform with a wary eye as he stepped upon it. "I say, wot's t' keep the bally rope from snapping once we're well off th' ground, sendin' us plummeting to our collective an' final demise?"

"A legitimate concern," Tolar conceded as he joined the Colonel on the primitive lift, "and one we have taken thoroughly into account. You'll notice this pallet has four ropes, not one - " the senior swordfox pointed to each corner of the square platform, then up over their heads, " - and they all twine together there. So, the main load of the elevator is borne by the strength of four ropes, not just one. This provides the stability to keep this platform level, as well as security in knowing that the lifting line is more than enough to do the job."

"One rope or four, there's still always a chance for 'em to break," Clewiston said, studying the layout around and above them. "And if it happens up near the blinkin' top, that'd be an awfully long way down ... "

"True." Tolar nodded. "Which is why, whenever somebeast takes this lift to the observation deck, we have crews standing by to divide this shaft into safety zones."

"Safety zones?" Winokur asked as he stepped up to join the two older beasts, leaving Roxroy as the only member of their party with his footpaws still on the stone floor.

"Yes," Tolar explained, "once we get about four stories off the ground, a team will slide a pair of heavy wooden beams across the shaft below us, sturdy enough to stop us if the ropes should by some slim chance break. Three stories above that, a second team will slide another set of beams into place, and so on every three or four stories all the way to the top. They'll stay in place until we're ready to descend, at which time they'll be drawn back one level at a time to let us pass. So you see, it really is quite safe."

"Yah," snorted Clewiston, "long as everybeast does its job ... "

"Of course they do their job," Tolar said rather sternly. "We wouldn't have anybeast here who'd dare shirk their responsibilities."

"So," Winokur asked, craning back his head to take in the seemingly endless shaft rising above them, " how will those beam-pushers know we're on our way?"

"In this particular case, they were informed earlier today that we'd be making this trip to the top, so they'll know to expect us. But at other times, if we need to make an unscheduled ascent ... well, you'll see." Tolar looked to the younger fox. "Roxroy, I think we're all ready here. Give the signal, please."

"Yes, sir." The swordfox cadet went to another taut rope that hung along the inner wall of the shaft. Grabbing it tightly with both paws, Roxroy gave two sharp downward tugs, paused a moment, then gave two more. His task completed, he stepped onto the platform to join the others.

"That's the signal for raising the lift," said Tolar. "Two tollings of two rings each."

"But, I didn't hear a bloomin' thing," argued Clewiston, "an' these ears don't miss much."

"I'm sure your hearing is just fine, Colonel. I daresay you must be underestimating the distance to the observation deck above us. Not even the sharpest-eared beast can discern the tollings from down here, but what matters is that the winch crew up top hears it. We should be moving presently. Now, you may all wish to stand toward the center of the platform for maximum stability. The shaft narrows ever so slightly toward the top, as you'll see. By the time we reach the apex we'll practically be scraping the sides, but for most of the ascent there will be a gap between the wall and the elevator's edge wide enough for a beast to fall through. And THAT is something that none of us here wants to have happen to them, believe me!"

Clewiston and Winokur both nervously edged in toward the exact center of the elevator, until they were literally back-to-back, facing out toward the shaft walls as if girded to ward off an enemy.

And then the lift gave a slight lurch and was on its way. After that initial jerk, the ride was a surprisingly smooth one, the plank deck staying perfectly level under their feet with just the vaguest hint of a side-to-side sway. In fact, if it weren't for the masonry lines of the circular walls sliding slowly by them on all side, they might almost have believed they were standing still.

As they ascended, Tolar rang a small bell that hung over their heads beneath the juncture of the four ropes. "This is how we let the safely crews know the lift is approaching their stations, so they'll be ready to slide the restraining beams into place," he explained. "As long as one of us rings this bell at regular intervals, those in the stairway around us will be able to follow our progress."

"Seems an awful lot o' work," commented Clewiston, "an' seems t' me we're not goin' any faster than if we were stompin' our bally stumps up those stairs ourselves. Is it really worth all the blinkin' trouble?"

Tolar gave the bell another clang before answering. "Speed's not the issue, Colonel. You've had plenty of opportunity to look at this tower from the outside, so you can imagine what a climb it would be. Well over a thousand individual steps, or so my Foremoles tell me - I've never counted them myself. Most beasts would be quite winded and in need of rest before they were even a fraction of the way up. In fact, I'll hazard a guess that we'll probably reach the top before Alexander and Mina do, in spite of their head start. Even a squirrel would be hard pressed to make that climb in one go!"

Light from a doorway above flooded into the shaft to form a zone of hazy illumination. As the lift rose through it, the passengers could see a weasel and an otter standing in the portal waving and smiling at them. Once the platform was past the doorway, they could hear the scraping of the catcher beams sliding into place.

"There!" said Tolar. "Now if the ropes bearing us should happen to give way anywhere between here and the next safety zone, those beams will stop us before we fall all the way to the bottom."

"Are you sure they're sturdy enough?" asked Winokur. "This platform is quite heavy just by itself, and with all four of us adding to its weight ... "

"Those beams are very thick," Tolar replied, "and that's also the reason there are safety zones the equivalent of every three to four stories, so that a runaway lift wouldn't build up enough velocity to smash through the restraint beams. A lot of planning went into this."

"So I see," observed Clewiston. "An' do tell, all these doorways onto th' stairs that we'll be passin' - ways for beasts who get tired of walkin' to just hop on board this contraption?"

"That was the original intent," Tolar replied, "although in actual practice that proved too unwieldy, having our winchers up above trying to line up the lift with the various doorways ... and it goes without saying that nobeast would want to try getting on this while it's in motion, even at this rather modest speed."

Clewiston and Winokur both blanched at this notion. "Gracious no!" Wink said, sounding uncharacteristically like Brother Geoff in his own ears.

"Of course," Tolar went on, "for most of the upper half of the tower, the shaft is narrow enough that the gap is actually easily manageable, just a step or less. We were also considering a design whereby the winch would be located on this platform itself, so that the beasts wishing to go up and down could proceed at their own pace and stop wherever they wanted. In the end, however, we realized the winch simply wouldn't fit on this lift. That's an awful lot of rope, you know." He gave the bell another couple of clangs as they approached the second safety zone. The pair of moles at that station tugged their snouts at them in friendly acknowledgment, drove home the two beams once the lift was clear, and the foursome was on its way to the third safety zone glowing above them.

There they were met not by two faces but four. Alex and Mina stood with the mole and otter safety crew, waving at their slowly ascending companions. "Hey, can we hitch a ride, or is this the express?" Alex joked.

"What're you two still doing here?" Winokur asked the two squirrels. "I'd have thought you'd be much farther along than this ... "

"We've been stopping to take in the scenery through some of the windows," Mina replied. "It's really amazing how the same patch of land can totally change its character the higher you go. I can't wait to get to the observation deck!"

And then they too were gone, and the third pair of beams slammed home to bridge the deepening chasm below them.

Clewiston glanced up to see if he could get a measure of just how much farther they had to go. "I say, it looks t' my old eye like its gets darker up there, not lighter, wot?"

"Yes," Tolar nodded, "all the light that makes it into this central shaft comes through the stairwell windows, and there are fewer windows in the higher reaches of the tower. It makes sense, both for safety's sake and for practical reasons. I mean, once you get past a certain altitude, there's really no way to use a bow or spear, and the top deck is the main vantage for observation, so ... "

Each corner of the elevator railing bore a small lantern, and the scant illumination from these lamps now asserted itself as the lift slowly climbed into the gloomy heights. Although they all knew they were a ridiculous distance above the ground (and getting more ridiculous by the moment), it truly felt instead like they were in some deep well, ascending toward the light of day. The sensation was eerie and uncanny, utterly unlike anything either Clewiston or Winokur had ever experienced before. While they realized they ought to have been relishing the novel occasion, they couldn't help but feel a little trapped and just more than a little imperiled.

It was the first time since their arrival at Foxguard that any of the Redwallers had been made to feel that way. Tolar had received them with the utmost graciousness, making them feel as welcome as ... well, as an Abbot of Redwall would have. He was of course ecstatic to finally have Mona living at his fortress, having been too long without a formal healer; as he explained to them, the workerbeasts erecting Foxguard constantly suffered all manner of minor injuries, ranging from pulled muscles to cuts and scrapes to the occasional fractured bone, and while the swordfoxes themselves had thus far proven capable of treating these hurts, it was a great relief to have Mona on paw to take proper care of these nuisance wounds, and to be there in case of a more serious accident or unforeseen attack by enemy beasts. Redwall's loss was now Foxguard's gain, and while Tolar and his foxes could appreciate that sacrifice made by the Abbeybeasts in relinquishing her to them, the simple fact was that this was where Mona belonged, and Tolar felt that a hole in his own community had now been filled.

The main structure of the swordfox fortress was now complete, leaving only the circular perimeter wall still to be finished. The red brick structure stood three stories tall and ringed the base of the tower, with doorways on all three levels leading out onto the tower stairs. There were over a score of large chambers on each floor, mostly living quarters but with plenty of room left over for a spacious kitchen on the ground level and workshops, storerooms and armories as well, most of those split between the first floor and the roomy cellars. Most of the fort's chambers currently lay bare and empty; the first priority, especially after the assault by Snoga, had been to get the structure built. Furnishing Foxguard could wait until after their security was established.

The Redwallers had been given three adjoining rooms on the top story, with rush floor mats and blankets to serve as their beds. It was certainly no worse than sacking out in Cavern Hole during the winter, and in spite of these rather homey arrangements, the Redwallers couldn't help but feel they were in luxurious surroundings. Certainly Foxguard would be a splendid place once it was fully appointed, just as had been promised all along.

The foundation for the perimeter wall had been completely laid, and roughly a third of the curving, protective barrier along the southeast side of Foxguard had been built up to a height of about one story. It was clear even in this unfinished state that it would be a massively thick and solid bulwark that would withstand any battering ram or siege engine, and likely stand for as long as Redwall had. And it was perhaps no coincidence that the first arc of its circumference to be built up happened to face the direction from which Snoga had attacked.

They would undoubtedly have a very encompassing view of the growing wall, and a great deal else, once they reached the tower's top. Now, if only they could bring themselves to disregard Roxroy's advice not to look down!

And at last they were there, after what had seemed an utterly interminable creep up through the never-ending well of the elevator shaft. As Tolar had warned, the windows (and hence the light coming through them) became more sparse the higher they went, giving out altogether for the final third of their ascent, which was made in an almost suffocating darkness in spite of the lanterns on their lift and the fresh breeze that wafted through the well-ventilated shaft. Thus it was a great relief to Winokur and Clewiston when the confining wall encircling them finally yielded to a flat stone floor that was at first eye-level, then waist-level, and then level with the vehicle's wood deck as the lift jerked to a stop. Hare and otter wasted not a moment in stepping onto the solid footing of the observation deck.

They stood within the shadowed shelter of a red sandstone dome, the blue sky visible through a single ordinary doorway. A pair of otters crewed the massive winch that had delivered their lift to this impossible height, its central spindle now wound about with the tower's-height worth of rope. The Colonel twitched his whiskers their way. "An' wot'd you two waterdogs do t' land this thrillin' detail?"

"Gotta have some strong 'n' sure musclepower up here crankin' this contraption," one of the otters grinned, then added with a wink, "'Sides, th' moles're too 'fraid o' heights to come all th' way up 'ere!"

"Ain't too fond of it m'self," admitted his companion.

Looking around the simple open chamber, Clewiston noticed a flight of stone steps winding up along the curved wall to the roof. "Wot," he declared, "isn't this high enough for ya?"

"Up there is where we keep the signaling mirror that we can use to flash messages to Salamandastron," Tolar said. "So, I guess you could say we've got a double-decker observation deck. The one up there is only about a dozen paces across, so it's a little cramped. Would you care to go up and have a look?"

The two Redwallers shook their heads as one. "Should imagine you get some pretty respectable winds at this altitude," said the Colonel. "Aren't you afraid of somebeast up on th' roof of this blinkin' place gettin' blown off?"

"Not really. There is a short wall around the top deck, after all. And this main deck we're on now is twice as wide as the one above, so if any lookout up there ever did lose its footing and fall over the edge, they'd be caught by the balcony here, which sticks out on all sides. It's perfectly safe."

"An' wot's to catch anybeast who falls from this level?"

"The fortress roof, unfortunately ... but that doesn't bear thinking about."

The two Abbeybeasts grimaced at this assessment. "From this bloomin' height, you'd think a fallin' beast might almost have enough oomph to it to smash right through your fort's roof, stone or no," said Clewiston.

"Foxguard is built better than that," answered Tolar. "This is no rickety shack we've made for ourselves here. And when flesh meets sturdy stone, I'm afraid stone always wins."

Winokur and Clewiston grimaced again, and this time the Colonel was content to let the subject lie.

They decided to wait for Alex and Mina so they could all take their first glimpse of Mossflower from Foxguard's observation deck together. Winokur's gaze was repeatedly drawn to the doorless portal that framed a small section of balcony and battlement, with just a tiny tantalizing square of cloudless azure sky showing above it; from where they stood inside the domed stone chamber it was impossible to see any of the ground. The novice otter hoped the two squirrels would not keep them waiting too long. It was all he could do to keep from running out onto the balcony to see what there was to be seen.

Alex and Mina finally made their appearance from the stone stairwell that gave out onto the solid floor alongside the elevator shaft. It was clear from their labored steps that even these seasoned climber beasts were feeling the strain of scaling the entire height of Foxguard's tower under nothing but their own leg power. Attaining the level floor of the chamber, both squirrels stood swaying a bit on their footpaws.

"Well, I don't think I'll be doing _that_ again anytime soon," Mina muttered. "Um, any chance we could sit for a bit before we get to the sightseeing part of this little excursion?"

Tolar directed Alexander and Mina to a pair of stone benches flanking an enclosed stall against the wall opposite the roof stairs. "Of course, of course. You won't want to go out onto the deck if you're feeling the slightest bit dizzy or unsteady. Fortunately we anticipated such needs, so rest your tails there until you're rejuvenated. We also have a chamber pot alcove, if any of you should feel the need. We even keep some food stocks up here, so if a beast needs to spend several days here on end, they can manage without help from down below."

"It sounds like Lord Urthblood and his moles thought of everything when they designed this place," Mina said as she and Alex settled themselves on one bench. "Don't let us keep you, Tolar. I imagine you're as eager to give Winokur and the Colonel their first gander from your magnificent tower as they are to behold their home forest from this unique new vantage. We'll be along in a few moments."

"If you're sure, M'Lady ... " The fox Sword turned to the other two Redwallers. "Might as well proceed. This way, if you please ... "

Tolar and Roxroy led the way out onto the observation deck. Winokur hadn't known what to expect; he'd even feared he might faint, or flee from the balcony in a fit of vertiginous panic. The actual experience turned out to be almost anticlimactic. For one thing, the stone railing came up almost to his chest ... which made sense, since this was ultimately Urthblood's fortress, and there might come a day when the Badger Lord would need to conduct a war from this location, so naturally the scale of things here would have to accommodate him. This meant that, as Winokur stepped out into the sunshine and unflagging breeze, the blue sky opened up in front and above and all around him, like the clear heavens unfolding just for him. But still he could see nothing of the lands below ... until he went right up to the rim-like battlement wall and peered over it.

Roxroy had been absolutely right. Looking out over the countryside spread out below truly was like beholding some kind of impossibly vast map or diorama. Because the balcony extended out over the sides of the tower, there was no visual connection linking their present position with the earth below ... and hence no vertigo. Winokur was overcome with the sensation that he was floating free and disconnected from the ground, with no solid support under him at all. Far from terrifying, it was exhilarating. Beyond breathtaking, even ...

He became aware of Clewiston standing at his side. For once, even the Colonel was struck speechless.

"Can ... can you really see Southsward from here?" Winokur asked, finding his voice.

"No, not really," answered Roxroy from the young otter's other side. "But with a long glass, you can see down to where Mossflower ends and the barren region below it begins. A few days ago we spotted a caravan moving east across those wastes. Couldn't really tell who they were or make out any details, but it looked like they were hauling a couple of really big wagons with them."

"It's possible that not even Lord Urthblood's birds saw them," Tolar said with a hint of boastfulness.

"Friend or foe, d' you think?" Clewiston mumbled absently.

"We'll probably never know," replied the swordfox chieftain. "They eventually disappeared behind the fringes of southern Mossflower. Probably goodbeasts fleeing from searat activity on the coast, since they were headed inland ... "

Roxroy pointed for his otter friend to look west. "Gaze that way, Wink, and tell me what you see ... "

Winokur took several steps around the curve of the battlement wall. "Why, it's Redwall! It ... it looks like a tiny toy made of children's blocks from up here!"

"Oh, yes, the Abbey. I'd forgotten about that. Kind of gives your home a whole new perspective, doesn't it? But raise your gaze, and look at what you can see beyond Redwall ... "

"Well, the Western Plains, of course, and the main north-south path ... and I can see the line of mountains on the other side of the Plains ... but ... that shimmering line I see beyond them ... can that really be ... ?"

"The sea!" Roxroy beamed. "And with a long glass, you can actually make out the top of Salamandastron! In fact, if you look very hard, you can see the glint of their own signal mirror, a dot shining brighter than the sea ... "

Winokur shook his head in disbelief. Having been to Salamandastron himself, he could appreciate the distances involved. Foxguard truly was a window on all the lands!

The two squirrels finally appeared in the doorway behind them. "So, how's the view?" Mina casually inquired.

"Well, I could tell you," said Winokur, "or you can come see for yourselves!"

00000000000

After a day of planning and haggling with Kothar, Snoga ended up with half of what he wanted ... and fully three-quarters of what he _didn't_ want.

"Why're ya only givin' me half th' stormpowder?" the impudent shrew chieftain had demanded during their often contentious strategy sessions.

The searat pointed toward the catapults by way of reply. "If I don't keep half of it for myself, then what am I s'posed t' load those with? Pine cones?"

And then, later - "Why're ya sendin' fifteen o' yer archers with us? Don'tcher trust us?"

The stare with which Kothar had returned this question told Snoga in no uncertain terms that trust was not anywhere in the searat's mind as far as this alliance was concerned. Tactful as always, however, Kothar had answered, "You will need skilled archers with you to carry out your part of the plan. I would give you the entire score, but I want to keep at least a few for myself to help guard the catapults while we're dragging them north through the forest. Even with the trails we've found, that's still gonna take us at least two days."

"Aye," Snoga nodded, at last in agreement with his conspirator on something, "should take me 'bout that long t' get back t' my boats an' th' rest o' my force."

"Communications between our two forces will be difficult once we're in position," Kothar said. "You'll be on the north side of the river, we'll be on th' south side, an' we'll both be doin' our best to keep under cover of the forest so Urthblood's shrews don't spot us before we're ready to let 'em know we're there. Let's plan on doing this three nights from now, halfway between midnight and dawn ... "

"What if ye're late gettin' there?"

"What if _you're_ late?" Kothar shot back.

"We ain't th' ones who're gonna be draggin' heavy weaponry through tight forest. Ye're more likely t' get hung up than we are. What's gonna happen if we go ahead with our attack an' you ain't there t' back us up?"

Kothar glanced at the supply of stormpowder he'd bestowed upon the True Guosim. "Then I'd say you'll still be able t' cause 'em trouble enough on your own. But come what may, we won't join the fight 'til after we hear you make your first strike. You're the ones who're gonna hafta get right up close to that shrew fort, so you'll need stealth on your side. We won't. Should help, you bein' shrews yourselves. Once we hear your thunder, we'll add our own to th' storm. If all goes accordin' to plan, Urthblood's beasts won't know what hit 'em!"

"Pity," Snoga lamented. "After all that badger's cost me, I'd kinda like t' rub it in their faces just who it is who's done this to 'em ... "

Now, as the True Guosim slogged their way through the forest to rejoin their fellow woodlanders, weighted down by many casks of stormpowder and the fifteen archer rats, Snoga reflected upon the situation. In one sense he supposed he'd come away from the table with all he could have reasonably hoped for; the stormpowder was, after all, the searats' secret weapon, and if they hadn't wanted their steel ship back so badly they probably never would have considered giving any woodlanders access to it. Kothar had had ample opportunity to observe Snoga in their time together, and had to know his ill will toward Urthblood was completely genuine.

But that didn't mean Kothar trusted Snoga, any more than Snoga trusted the searats. Of course Snoga meant to seize the searat vessel for himself, and Kothar must have suspected this as well. These archer rats would indeed be useful in helping Snoga's forces overcome the Northlanders' resistance, but the renegade shrew leader knew they were also along to keep him honest, and would turn on him in a heartbeat if they sensed any treachery on his part.

Snoga grinned slyly to himself, careful not to let any of the searats see his expression. Kothar had seriously underestimated him. Fifteen rats to enforce that seascum's will upon the True Guosim? Snoga didn't care how good those archers were, when they were so hopelessly outnumbered. Kothar had made one serious miscalculation that would cost him everything, and that was simply that he would be on one side of the river with no way to get across, while Snoga's army would be on the other ... along with the steel searat ship that was the focus of this whole convoluted affair. Snoga couldn't wait to see the expression on Kothar's face as the triumphant shrew went sailing upstream with his captured prize, leaving the searats empty-pawed.

In his shortsighted frame of mind, it never occurred to Snoga that, if he were to deal honestly with the searats on this occasion, he might just be able to secure further supplies of stormpowder for use in future operations against Urthblood. Snoga's mind didn't work like that. The searats were allies of convenience, to be exploited, used and then cast aside once Snoga's near-term goals had been achieved. Besides, a long-term alliance with searats? That would have been unthinkable!

There were several other points to his plan that didn't occur to Snoga then that perhaps should have.

The shrew scout Poss came jogging up alongside Snoga. "Hey, Chief," he whispered, "you sure 'bout these rats we've gone an' hooked up with? They was actin' kinda strange back there ... "

"Strange how?" Snoga demanded.

"Well, like they was afraid t' mingle or even talk around us. All kinda stiff an' shifty like. Kothar an' one or two others did all th' talkin' ... "

"Well, o' course! He's their clan leader, ain't he? You'd expect him t' be th' one who'd treat with us ... "

"Yeah, mebbe. But, where'd they get those catapults from anyway? Ain't 'xactly th' kind o' thing you'd expect a tribe o' woodland rats t' just have layin' about ... "

"How should I know where they got 'em? Could be they pilfered 'em from th' same searats they stole th' stormpowder from. All that matters t' me is that they got 'em, an' they're gonna help us fight Urthblood's accursed shrews, an' that's good 'nuff fer me!"

"Well, I hope that's what they're plannin' on doin' - " Poss glanced about him furtively, " - 'cos seems t' me their archer rats who're with us now are spendin' as much effort keepin' an eye on us as they are scoutin' th' woods ahead an' alongside us ... "

"Shrews 'n' rats ain't never been in an alliance like this b'fore," Snoga said. "Only natural they'd be a tad wary o' us, jus' like ye're bein' toward 'em."

"Oh. Well, if ye're sure we can trust 'em, Chief ... "

"We're all in this t'gether now, Poss. They'll do what we need 'em to, when we need 'em t' do it. Urthblood's th' one who's gotta watch out!"

"Jus' what was this rat tribe's beef with that badger anyway? Seems like Urthblood's shrews ain't got this far south yet."

Snoga was growing tired of Poss's unrelenting inquiries. "Y'know, beasts who ask too many questions're sometimes beasts who lose their tongues!"

"Um ... aye, Boss!"

"I know what I'm doin'. Now, why don't you get back t' doin' what you know, an' scout th' way up ahead o' us fer a bit?"

"Yessir!" As Poss scampered off to remove himself from Snoga's presence, it occurred to the True Guosim leader that it might be tricky getting his shrews to turn on Kothar's rats just when he needed them to, especially after he'd gone to such lengths to assure them that these new allies were trustworthy and nothing more sinister than they appeared to be. There had been a few close moments, starting with that idiot hare's outburst, when Snoga was afraid everything might go to pot, but the masquerade had held, thanks to Kothar's reassuring manner and Snoga's bullying one. Perhaps if Snoga put an end to that masquerade at a time of his choosing, and made his shrews believe that he himself had been duped into believing these searats were woodlanders, he could swing them all around to back him in his treachery.

He wasn't entirely sure how he would pull this all off, but he'd think of something. He always did.


	20. Chapter 103

Chapter One Hundred and Three

Hanchett was in the dark about everything that was going on around him - quite literally.

When he came to after being clobbered unconscious by Kothar, Hanchett found himself sitting on the ground with his back to a tree. Ropes firmly bound him at wrist and ankle, and he appeared to be tied to the trunk as well. He could not have said for sure, since a sack covered his head. The canvas bag was dirty and reeked of stale produce and wasteland road dust, clogging his nostrils. The situation was not improved by the fact that the gag still filled his mouth, hindering his breathing. Things got messy when he had to sneeze, which was not infrequently, and he passed in and out of consciousness numerous times from the stifling stuffiness. Clearly his captors wished to keep him blind to his surroundings and mute as well, and didn't care how uncomfortable these measures made him.

But if they could obscure his sight and still his tongue and confound his smell and restrict his movement, they could not keep him from hearing the voices and movements around him. He had trouble telling the gruff shrews from the equally unrefined searats, but after awhile he figured out that nearly every speaker whose muffled words reached his folded ears through the burlap was one of seavermin. Apparently the chief of these villains wanted to keep him away from any shrews who might grow overly curious, in spite of Hanchett's bound and gagged state. It also looked as if Snoga and his searat conspirators might be trying to keep their shrews and rats segregated from one another. Which made sense, if they were still trying to hide the searats' true identity from most of Snoga's gang.

By the sparse light that penetrated the makeshift hood, Hanchett could tell when day turned to night and back to day again, yet still nobeast came to check on him or offer him food or water. He wondered whether they might just all break camp and wander away, leaving him tied up to die of thirst. Probably not, he decided at last; while it would be a suitably despicable thing for such beasts to do, they generally delighted in more active forms of torture. If he was still alive, it was for a reason, and he would find out what it was in good time.

It was on the second morning of captivity that Hanchett clearly made out the busy sounds of many beasts departing, followed by the dropoff in hustle and bustle which suggested that far fewer creatures surrounded him now. As he anticipated, it didn't take long for pawsteps to approach and for his hood to be yanked off.

Kothar stood over Hanchett, grinning wickedly at his captive. "How are those bee stings feelin' today?"

Hanchett blinked up at the searat spy. "Deh wah ornigths ... "

"Having trouble speaking? Here, allow me ... " Kothar bent down and slipped the wet gag cloth out of Hanchett's mouth. "Now, you were saying?"

"They were hornets, actually. An' I am still feelin' a bit bumpy an' burny from that whole bruhaha. Don't s'pose you have any salve on you?"

"Fresh out, I'm afraid."

"Pity. So, is this where you lot torture me t' find out wot I know?"

"What you may or may not know makes no difference whatsoever to me, my welty, long-eared friend. If you're tortured at all, it'll be because I let these brainless boathunks loose on you to blow off a little steam. Might do 'em some good, 'fore they head inta battle ... "

Hanchett's ears twitched. "Battle, y' say?"

Kothar's sinister grin never faltered. "If you're in the dark about our plans, I'd just as soon keep it that way. And I probably will keep you alive, at least until this whole thing is over, since you might have some value as a hostage. After going to all the trouble of holdin' off those shrews who wanted to interrogate you one slice at a time, it wouldn't make much sense fer me to turn around an' let that happen to you anyway, would it?"

"Yah, I gather those li'l nastysnouts would wanna carve me up into bally strips of hare bacon. Prob'ly woulda been pleased t' do it outta spite an' vengeance, even if they didn't get a word outta me."

"Snoga seemed convinced you were part of some roving army that's been plaguing him for nearly a season ... "

"And you don't?"

"I'm one of Tratton's intelligence officers. I have an appreciation for what you hares of the Long Patrol can do. The harrying Snoga described to me sounded exactly like the hit-and-run tactics of a lone hare workin' on its own. If there'd been as many of you as Snoga seemed to think, I don't imagine any of his shrews woulda made it outta that mess alive."

"Well, it's jolly nice t' be respected, even if it is by th' likes of you. So, wot're you salty rapscallions doin' in league with Snoga anyway? Strikes me as th' oddest couple this side of a hummingbird and a trout."

"Snoga sees Urthblood as an enemy. We see Urthblood as an enemy. What could be more natural?"

"You stayin' outta Mossflower, fer starters. You cause enough trouble along th' coasts an' sea lanes as it is. Your sort doesn't belong here. An' if word gets t' Redwall an' Foxguard, you'll have a nice little war on your scummy claws."

"Oh, we have that already - but our war's with Urthblood. Once we even the score with that badger, we'll be gone from here, an' you'll never have t' worry 'bout us ever again."

"Oh, right ho. An' if you expect me t' believe that, I've got a nice big shiny red tower I'd just love t' sell ya, chap."

"I thought you'd take some pleasure in the trouble we're giving Urthblood. Last I heard, he and the Long Patrols weren't exactly buddy buddy."

"Snoga attacked Redwallers. Nobeast gets away with that. An' if that puts us an' Urthblood on th' same blinkin' side for th' time bein', then that's just too flippin' bad, 'cos those outlaw shrews've got justice comin' to 'em ... an' if you're unwise enough t' cast your lot with Snoga, then you deserve wot you get, wot?"

"And you'll be first in line t' dole it out to us, hm? Which is why, if you get out of this alive at all, you'll not be seeing your freedom anytime soon. Who knows? You might end up bein' the first hare of the Long Patrol to receive a guided tour of Terramort's dungeons ... although I suspect you'll find the views a bit tiresome after the first season or two."

"Th' day I set foot on Terramort's a day that Tratton will jolly well come t' regret, believe you me!"

"Brave words from a courageous bunny who's all alone, hopelessly outnumbered and currently quite tied up."

"Ah, yes, speakin' of that, don't s'pose you'd agree t' untyin' me long enough t' attend to some personal business? Otherwise, you'll have one rather soiled an' pungent hare on your paws."

"Your timing is fortuitous. I was just about to have you cut loose from that tree anyway, since we'll soon be on the move, an' you'll be comin' with us." Kothar pulled the grungy hood back over Hanchett's head. "You don't need to see for what you have in mind, an' of course we'll be keeping all your paws tied too. An' I hope you're not timid, 'cos my rats won't be leavin' your side for a moment. Not that I don't trust you, but give me one whisker's worth of trouble and you'll be dead 'fore you hit the ground. An' don't think for one instant that my rats wouldn't be more than happy to oblige!"

00000000000

On the fifth day of negotiations between Urthblood and Korba, with Tratton yet to show himself, Ramjohn took the badger aside.

"M'Lord, how much longer is this gonna drag on for?" the trader mouse asked with more than a trace of impatience. "You an' that rat've been talking in circles for five days now, an' you're no further along than when you started!"

"On the contrary, Captain," Urthblood rumbled, "we are finally starting to make progress on the substantive issues. I have expressed to Korba most of the points that will need to be addressed before there can be any kind of meaningful peace between me and Tratton, and conceded benefits that Tratton may hope to gain if he agrees to abide by this treaty."

"Yeah, an' that's another thing. Don't you think you're bein' just a tad ... generous ... with some of what you're promisin' that thievin' pirate murderer?"

"Tratton sees himself as neither a plunderer nor a murderer. A tyrant, perhaps, but also a legitimate ruler of his species, even if he does hold power through terror and violence. He considers his realm to be his empire, and he is not entirely unjustified in that view. If he did not see that I am willing to treat with him as an equal, he would have very little incentive to enter into these talks. But these past two seasons, I have shown him that his empire will not be free to expand without limits, and this too is an incentive that has brought him to the negotiating table. Besides, I have promised Korba nothing as of yet - I have merely given him some idea of what Tratton might gain, if the Searat King abides by any agreement we reach."

"An' when's that bloody sea king gonna show up, anyway? How do we know he's not still hunkered down on Terramort, whippin' up some nasty surprise while his lacky here's got us all tied up in diplomatic doubletalk?"

"Tratton is on that steel ship out there," Urthblood stated with absolute certainty. "He would not have sent this present force to Salamandastron merely for show, or to protect his negotiator Korba. He keeps his remaining dreadnoughts away from the coast, holding them in reserve in case this war continues. So, his galleons and frigates would be the largest ships of his fleet that he would dare to send within range of my gulls. And the fact cannot be ignored that Korba feels it necessary to return to his ship at the close of each day's talks. Clearly, he is reporting to some manner of superior out there."

"You really think Tratton's out there? Then what's he playing this out so long for?"

"He fears this may be a trap," Urthblood replied. "Korba is not just haggling over minor points of negotiation - he is taking my measure, and that of every creature inside Salamandastron. Tratton will not show himself until Korba can assure him beyond all reasonable doubt that it is safe for him to do so."

"And is it?"

"You should know better than to ask me that, Captain."

"Just seems t' me that this'd be a great opportunity to cut th' head off the searat snake once an' for all. Leave 'em without a leader, an' I'd bet their empire would fall apart pretty furred quick ... "

"That is the kind of tactic to which Tratton might resort. I am a Badger Lord, and such treachery would tarnish the reputation of Salamandastron for generations to come."

"Oh. It's just that from what I've heard, that seemed like th' kind of thing you might do."

"Have you perchance been speaking to any hares of the Long Patrol? Only their opinion of me would be so low."

"No offense meant, M'Lord. But truth is, while that scurvy corsair's draggin' this out, his ships are out there on th' high seas harassin' honest trader vessels, seizing 'em an' their cargo an' sendin' their goodbeast crews to Dark Forest seasons before their time. The lucky ones, anyway - the unlucky ones get clapped in chains an' sentenced to a life of living death as slaves. Every day this lags on ups th' chances of another merchant ship meetin' that fate."

"But if these negotiations prove successful, Captain, honest trader vessels may never again face such threats. I abhor slavery above all other forms of wickedness, and as you have heard for yourself at these sessions, I have made the suspension of such practices one of my chief demands. Any final agreement reached between me and Tratton will halt his raiding of merchant ships and taking of slaves. If such a goal can be attained peacefully, is it not worth the few extra days it might take to achieve it?"

"Maybe," Ramjohn said dubiously. "If that treacherous searat sticks to his side of the bargain."

"I will impress upon him the consequences of failing to do so. Will you stay with these negotiations, Captain?"

Ramjohn shrugged. "Might as well. Th' _Goodwill_'s got an empty hold from a voyage completed, an' noplace pressin' we hafta be. An' your hospitality's not to be faulted, M'Lord, even if I hadta enjoy your tasty fare in th' company of the likes of Korba. Normally that'd be enough to put off my appetite. I'm just wonderin' how much longer it's gonna take that spider in rat's clothes to finally show 'imself."

"It should not be too many more days," said Urthblood. "There is only so much more delaying Korba can do without starting to look totally preposterous, beyond even his ability to belabor a point. Fortunately, we have already covered so much ground, it could be that Tratton will make one brief appearance at the conclusion of these talks to formalize a treaty, and that will be all we see of him."

"Can't come soon enough for me. Never seen Tratton, or met anybeast who has. Wonder what he looks like?"

"A rat," Urthblood told the seamouse. "Just a rat."

00000000000

"Majesty, I don't know how much longer I can keep this up ... "

Tratton regarded Korba across the small table in his private stateroom aboard the _Wedge_. "You will keep it up until I tell you to do otherwise. There has still been no word from Kothar. We must give him time to do what he can to recover our property before I consent to meet with Urthblood."

"But, what if that word never comes, Sire? There's no guarantee that Kothar'll succeed in his mission. We could still be sittin' here waiting to hear from him into next season ... "

The Searat King's eyes narrowed. "At the start of this venture you placed great stock in Kothar's ability. You seem to have lost some of your faith in him all of a sudden."

"Even the best can sometimes fail, M'Lord," said Korba. "This is an ambitious challenge he's taken on, filled with risk. Any number of things could go wrong to keep him from getting back that craft for us. But, even if he does succeed, it might take a long time for that news t' reach us here. How much longer can we wait?"

"Until I decide that we no longer can."

"With all due respect, Majesty, you ain't th' one who's gotta sit across from that badger, day after day, thinkin' up reasons to decline some of what he's offerin' or counterdemands of our own or details t' nitpick. He knows we're stallin', an' I don't know how much longer he'll put up with it."

"If he's genuine about wanting a negotiated peace, he'll wait as long as I care to make him wait. And while he might have surmised by now that we're stalling, he can only guess at our reasons for doing so. We are calling the shots here, and he can only go along with us."

"But, will we really have anything to gain by delayin' further, M'Lord? Succeed or fail, Kothar's so far south of here, these talks could be long over 'fore Urthblood has a clue what's goin' on down that way."

"Or, his damnable birds could be watching over that situation as we speak, could even now be winging their way back to Salamandastron to inform him of our attack on his shrew stronghold or our recapture of our submersible. Once any agreement between Terramort and Urthblood is finalized, I will have no choice but to abide by all the terms of our agreement. There will be at most a brief window of opportunity during which I can claim that news of our accord is still making its way to all my captains and officers, and that their operations in progress may take time to wind down. That might give Kothar what he needs to complete his work. It is also possible that if Urthblood learns of this before these negotiations are concluded, he will make the return of our submersible to him one of the conditions for peace. That is why the timing of this is so crucial; if Kothar can succeed and get that boat back and we can formalize an agreement with Urthblood before that badger learns of this, we will have our prize and will have inflicted some return damage upon his forces in the bargain, and there will be nothing he can do about it."

"He could scrap th' treaty, an' go back to burnin' our boats ... or worse, if he really does know th' secret to the stormpowder."

"Then we will be no worse off than we were before. I can always claim that I was unaware of Kothar's activities - something not even Kothar himself could contradict under torture - and that he initiated this operation without my prior knowledge or direct approval, which is the absolute truth. All part of the trials and fortunes of war, and the very thing Urthblood says he seeks to stop. And after the way he has attacked us of late, he is in no position to cry foul over this."

"Maybe so, M'Lord, but this is a dangerous course we're sailin' ... "

"I never said it wasn't, Korba. Now, let us look at what we stand to gain if this all works out ... " Tratton scanned the parchment sheets laid out on the table before him, the accumulated notes from all the days of these talks so far. "Does Urthblood really expect us to stop raiding free trader vessels and offering them protective escort instead?"

"For ten percent of the cargo," Korba confirmed, "to be presented to us at the start of each voyage. And we'd be entitled to twenty percent from any merchant ships we stop on the high seas who are there without our permission. These are actually fairly generous terms, Sire."

Tratton pursed his lips. "But the trader ships themselves were the most valuable commodity gained from those raids. They could be dismantled for their lumber, or retrofitted directly to serve as ships of the fleet - an even bigger concern nowadays, with our losses of the past two seasons. And then there are the slaves we would miss out on ... although that is only a minor concern."

"Some of your galleon an' frigate captains may beg t' differ with you on that, M'Lord."

"They would just have to learn to adjust to the new realities of the situation. Hmm ... for all that we'd lose, there is a very tempting side to this as well. To have Urthblood recognize me as the legitimate ruler of the seas ... as a power to be reckoned with and treated as an equal ... If the Lord of Salamandastron acknowledges my empire, no woodlander in all the lands would be able to gainsay him. He is the protector of the coastlands, and if he deigns to cooperate with me, not even Redwall has the power or authority to challenge him on this. He must have known how such a proposition would appeal to my ego ... "

"If it stops this war," Korba ventured, "or suspends hostilities long enough for us to perfect and build more ships like the _Wedge_, then I'd say it would be unreasonable to refuse it."

Tratton's gaze travelled over the parchments. "In many ways, this wording is as much to save face for him as it is for me. He wants us to assume the role of protector for merchant vessels ... but the only thing we could possibly be protecting them from is ourselves! So, in effect, the percentages we take from their holds are tribute for permission to use our sea lanes - again, formal recognition that this is our rightful realm, and all who venture here require our leave to do so, or else they will face additional penalties in accordance with laws observed by both Terramort and Salamandastron."

"You sound ... pleased, M'Lord."

"And then there are the mainland bases. Are you positive Urthblood said he would permit us to rebuild the lumber camp he destroyed just this past winter?"

"We spent an entire day on that issue," Korba replied. "He said there would have to be a garrison of his own troops stationed there to oversee things, but as long as we didn't try to establish a military presence at that location, we would be free to cut as many trees and mill as much lumber as we wanted."

"But, he wants to do this at all of our mainland facilities, is that so?"

Korba nodded. "He reserves the right to send his forces into any of our camps at any time, without advance notice, for inspection purposes to make sure we are not violating any of the terms of the agreement. He insists this is a fair tradeoff, since we will be operating on the open sea without any monitoring or interference from him."

"And what would lead Urthblood to show such generosity, when that eagle of his who came to Terramort was all but threatening us with total destruction?"

"So that he won't have to fight this war all th' way to its end. Sure, he _might_ be able to bring this battle to us at sea, but at what cost? He's shown us he can defeat us on his own turf, an' mayhap that's all he ever aimed to do. Could even be that his entire purpose in attackin' our lumber mill an' destroyin' our dreadnoughts was to bring us to the negotiatin' table."

"I'd not put it past that bloody badger. Demonstrate his power and his willingness to use it, threaten us with further destruction, make me think I had no choice but to treat with him ... not that I doubt for one moment he'd shy away from carrying through with what he started. That beast revels in the ways of war like no creature who's ever lived. But, if this summit was his goal all along, then we may safely assume that he is at least genuine in seeking a treaty ... unless his ultimate objective is my head on a platter."

"I believe he honestly seeks a negotiated peace," said Korba. "Which still leaves me with the same dilemma I started with, Majesty. Every possible point of discussion has been gone over, an' then gone over some more. There's really nothing left to negotiate. What will I tell Urthblood when I go back in there tomorrow?"

"I will try to come up with one or two more objections you can feed him. Just give me another day or two if you can, Korba. I will meet with Urthblood, if that is what he wants ... but only when I am ready to do so."


	21. Chapter 104

Chapter One Hundred and Four

The hour was at paw for Snoga to make his grand gesture against Urthblood, and to grab the glory that would leave no doubt as to who was the true master of Mossflower's shrews.

The chosen night for their attack on Doublegate offered both good and bad. A dense layer of cloud hid moon and stars, casting the shrew garrison and its environs in a deep darkness that would help hide the True Guosim's activities. Unfortunately, those same clouds also shed intermittent showers over the area, the raindrops dribbling down through the summer forest canopy to dampen Snoga's sheltering forces. And for creatures who would be working with flame, this weather presented an unwelcome complication.

"Gah!" Gomon grumbled as a leaf above him gave way and spilled its entire reservoir of collected rainwater onto the top of his head. "How're we s'posed t' work with flint 'n' tinder in this downpour?"

"Aw, t'ain't rainin' that hard!" Snoga shot back, intolerant of even the slightest grousing on the verge of his grand triumph. "An' it's only sprinklin' off an' on. We'll wait fer a dry spell an' then begin our attack. We can pick our own time, since Kothar's gonna wait 'til we start 'fore his rats join us. You lot just make sure you keep them fuses dry - that's th' thing that could kill this whole operation!"

"Mebbe we oughta light little twigs on fire here under th' trees where it's drier," suggested Poss. "Then we could carry 'em out with us ... "

"Can't do anything that might tip 'em off we're here," countered Snoga. "You can bet they got lookouts posted along that walltop, even if these showers've snuffed their torches. Knowin' Urthblood's lot, they'll not be chased indoors by a few raindrops. Naw, we gotta use cover o' darkness t' get them stormpowder kegs in place 'fore anything else, then we'll worry 'bout gettin' 'em lit ... "

"I'm jus' glad those Northlanders don't have any scouts patrollin' these woods t'night," said his lieutenant Kellom. "If we'd run inta them in this dark, we'da been treadin' on their footpaws 'fore we even knew they was in front o' us. Then they coulda raised the alarm an' got things all mucked up fer us."

"Yeah, we caught a break on that one." Snoga stared out from between the trees. The immense bulk of Doublegate loomed in the distance, barely visible against the dark night. The only reason he could make it out at all was due to the wide clearing around it where many hundreds of trees had been cut down for the fort's construction. He was reminded of Foxguard, his last target which had also been centered in a large open space. But this time, things would go very differently. This time, they would attack at night rather than in broad daylight, going up against a stronghold of mere timber instead of solid stone. And this time, Snoga would have allies, and weapons far beyond anything his enemy possessed. It was the situation he'd been striving for ever since dispatching his agents the previous winter to bring him back the Flitchaye gas or some other superweapon that would give him dominance over Log-a-Log. Now, with his moment arrived and the stormpowder in paw, and no Redwallers here to needlessly complicate matters as they had at Foxguard, he could not possibly fail.

Standing silently behind the front ranks of Snoga's shrews, the fifteen searat archers maintained a dark and ominous presence all their own. Little did the True Guosim leader know, one of those archers was actually Kothar's second-in-command Glebocka, disguised as a rank-and-file searat fighter disguised in turn as a woodland rat. Glebocka had taken great pains to keep his true identity hidden from Snoga, following the irascible shrew chieftain's orders along with his fellow searats. The doubly-disguised spyrat's primary mission was not to assist in the assault on Doublegate but to keep a very close eye on Snoga ... and to discreetly put an arrow in that shrew if he showed the slightest hint of betraying his dangerous allies.

So far, Snoga had betrayed no hint that he was interested in anything more than striking a blow against Urthblood and helping the searats recover their property. And thus, Snoga still drew breath ... for the time being. But if treachery were to come, this would be the most likely time for it, in the confusion of battle. Glebocka would not allow Snoga out of his sight for one moment.

"Poss!" Snoga ordered in a low bark. "Get out there on th' clearin' edge from under these trees, an' tell us when this rain lets up! Next break in this drizzle that comes along, we'll make our move!"

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"Hey, what's that noise?"

Sergeant Fryc, none too happy about having to stand his walltop rotation on such a miserable night, had all he could do to keep from snapping at his fellow sentry Skojol. "What noise? What're ya jabberin' on about, Skoj?"

"Don'tcha hear it, Sarge? Kinda like a creakin' or cracklin' sound - there 'tis again!" Skojol pointed out over the deadly points of the sharpened-timber battlements at the dark river beyond. "It's comin' from out there somewheres ... "

This made Fryc straighten up and take notice. As the ranking shrew of this night's watch, he'd positioned himself on the outer wall directly overlooking the searat submarine. After all, Doublegate had been built in this spot for the express purpose of guarding that vessel, and it was the duty of every lookout shift to keep an eye on it as much as to guard the fort itself. Normally a contingent of shrews stood down by the gangplank to keep a direct watch over the bizarre craft, but Fryc knew full well that weather like tonight's would often drive them indoors; he knew this because he himself had been guilty of such laxity in the past. So, if anything was amiss from that quarter, he could ill afford to deny it his full attention.

Fryc leaned out over the battlements, careful not to impale himself on the spearlike tips of the vertical wall timbers. Susurrating sounds filled the inky night: the everpresent shoosh of the flowing broadstream below them, now joined by the pervasive patter of raindrops striking leaf and wood and water and ground from every direction. But against that level swishing background, another incongruous collection of noises reached his ears, standing out from the natural water sounds. Now that he was listening for them, he could make them out quite clearly.

The shrew sergeant's gaze lifted from the moored submersible directly below him to the forest across the river. His eye could not settle upon any detail of the woodlands in this near-total darkness; only memory told him where he should be looking. But his hearing informed him of what his sight could not: something was going on over there.

Skojol joined his sergeant in leaning out over the serrated walltop. "Sounds like it's comin' from across th' broadstream, don't it?"

"Aye," Fryc nodded, "that it does."

"Think it's trouble?"

"I think it's best we keep our eyes 'n' ears open 'til we know what th' fur that is out there makin' that racket. But if it's somebeast tryin' t' sneak up on us, they ain't doin' a very good job of it!"

In the minutes that followed, every shrew on both the outer and inner wall gravitated toward the south ramparts overlooking the river, drawn there by the strange noises coming out of the night. Dozens of ears strained to isolate and identify what might possibly be the nature or cause of the commotion on the south banks across from their garrison. Sometimes it sounded like the cracking of branch and twig, other times like the creaking of a large wooden ship shifting on ocean swells, and still other times like the squeak of an axle in need of oiling. Occasionally these noises combined in an otherworldly medley that sent shivers down the spines of the night-blind onlookers. The cacophony remained distant and ghostlike, but the mere fact that it could be heard at all from up where they stood indicated this was more than just some solitary beast tramping its way through the forest. Far more.

"Reckon we oughtta go wake Cap'n Tardo or one o' th' lieutenants?" asked a corporal named Morkin.

"Nay," Fryc replied after a few moments' consideration. "Long as we got th' river 'tween us an' whatever's goin' on over there, we should be safe. We'll jus' keep our eyes an' ears open, an' if it starts lookin' like we got trouble on our paws, then we'll raise th' alarm. No use disturbin' th' higher-ups over somethin' that might not concern us t'all. Um ... but we better make sure we got some shrews out by that rat boat, jus' t' be doubly safe. Morkin, get down an' see t' that, will ya?"

"Aye, Sarge!"

With so many of the Northland shrews concentrated along this one spot on the southern ramparts, nobeast was left to watch the other approaches to Doublegate. Fryc could have barked orders for them to return to their assigned positions, but the thought never really entered his mind. Whatever was going on here was happening on the south side of the river. It never occurred to any of them that a second menace might lurk much closer to paw on their own side of the broadstream, hidden under cover of tree and darkness and waiting only for a break in the rain to strike.

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Kothar winced with every creak, crack, groan and squeak as the two catapults were wheeled into position across from Doublegate. His rats had secretly scouted out these south banks the previous evening, pinpointing the best position to entrench the pair of heavy weapons. But hauling the massive catapults to that spot through nearly impenetrable darkness proved to be more of a challenge than Kothar had anticipated. They dared not use even the dimmest of lamps or torches, lest they unwittingly reveal to Urthblood's forces the nature of the menace being put in place against them. Working in such darkness, the searats couldn't help but make a horrendous racket as they dragged the siege weapons forward into their firing positions. And the wet forest floor underpaw certainly didn't help matters either.

"Salt an' spray!" Kothar cursed under his breath as one hauling crew took down two oak saplings in their wake. "Forget about Urthblood's shrews - we're makin' enough of a din to wake Redwall too!"

Fortunately, he knew, the same cloud-blanketed sky that made their task so difficult would also veil them from the eyes that would surely be turned their way now. The Northland shrews might hear the searats' activity in the black night, but hopefully they would be kept guessing as to the nature of the uproar's cause and the identity of the beasts behind it. Kothar counted upon his adversaries possessing no weapons that could reach him from across the river even if those shrews could have seen the shape of this threat, but he was just as glad for the anonymity this moonless overnight granted him.

His biggest concern was what this would do to the other half of their attack plan. The racket they were raising here might well lead to a heightened state of alert within the shrew garrison, making it difficult for Snoga to approach the fort wall without being seen, even in this deep gloom. But that was Snoga's problem; no plan this complicated ever went off without a few snags, and Kothar's uncertain ally would just have to cope with it as best he could.

The only real worry would be what might happen if Snoga balked and never attacked at all. Kothar still planned to wait until the True Guosim struck before launching his own fusillade, but if no powderkegs went off across the river by the time the sky began to brighten, he might be left with no choice but to commence the attack on his own and hope that would inspire Snoga to join the fray. Daybreak would plainly reveal the catapults to Urthblood's shrews, and it would be practically impossible to withdraw them in time so as not to be seen. After all this work, Kothar was committed to this operation, whether Snoga came through or not. Quite a few of his rats could swim; in the worst case scenario, he would send them across the river to try to seize their submersible on their own without any help from Snoga or Glebocka's archer team, and hope that the confusion wrought by the stormpowder explosions would provide them enough cover to get the job done. But Kothar would not disengage from this contest until he'd made his best effort to get back what rightly belonged to King Tratton.

The spyrat's qualms would have been greatly soothed if he could have known that the distraction he was creating here was the very thing that had left most of Doublegate's ramparts empty and abandoned, and would make Songa's work that much easier. But, since he was bound and determined to proceed come what may, it really wouldn't have made much difference to him either way.

When the forest around him at last grew quiet once more except for the gentle patterings of the rain, it was like stepping from a world of cacophony and tumult into one of silent anticipation, like a constant feature of the night had suddenly been stripped away. The catapults were in place; now it was in the paws of their gunners to deliver the ammunition to the target. And as big as that target was, Kothar could still barely discern it rising above the opposite shore.

He turned to one of the artillery rats, an indistinct shadow stationed at the side of one equally indistinct catapult. "Are you sure you won't have any problem aiming in this murk?"

"Ought not t' be a problem, sir. That place is so huge, all we really gotta do is start lobbin' kegs in its general direction an' we're almost sure t' hit some part of it. Once we've launched a few, we'll be able t' fine-tune our targetin' an' put those casks right smack where we want 'em."

"Good. I'll hold you to that. So, you're ready to start accepting the kegs up here?"

"Aye. Just keep 'em dry, an' we'll do th' rest!"

Into the night's newly-returned silence came a voice, soft with distance yet gruff in nature, carrying across the river to them from the shrew fort. "Hey, who's over there? Identerfy yerselves, in th' name o' Lord Urthblood!"

Kothar, for all his erudite refinement, could not suppress a typically searat snigger. He knew that no ordinary tones of conversation could possibly reach the ears of the watching and listening shrews. As long as he and his rats didn't raise their voices, Urthblood's forces could only guess whether the creatures responsible for all that noise were still here or had moved on.

"Oh, don't worry, my runty little friends, we'll identify ourselves, you can be sure of that! But I wager you'll not like our manner of reply!"

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"Hey, Boss! It's stopped rainin'!"

"Are y' sure, Poss? We gotta make certain these fuses don't get wet!"

The lowly scout shrew tipped back his head to stare straight up into the overcast night sky. "No drops a-fallin' on me, Chief. Looks like that break we been waitin' fer."

"Awright. Now let's just hope Kothar didn't wake every waterlogged shrew in that fort with all his confounded racket!" Even at this distance from the garrison, Snoga's waiting forces had been able to hear the commotion of the catapults' emplacement across the river. Turning to his stormpowder kegbearers, the renegade shrew chieftain said, "You all know what t' do! I want those casks spaced evenly all along th' west, north an' east walls. Make sure y' don't let th' fuses drag along the damp ground! Just tuck yer kegs at th' base o' th' wall, get 'em lit an' then get yer tails outta there! Okay, get goin'!"

Over a score of shrews, each clutching a powderkeg to its chest, nodded and took off into the night, escorted by flint and tinder tenders who would set spark to the fuses the moment the charges were in place. Given the reputation of Urthblood's soldiers, none of them wished to spend a moment longer within sling or arrow range than they had to.

Glebocka, standing back with his fellow rats, could not help but notice that several of the stormpowder kegs remained behind, wrapped in canvas to keep them dry. Striding forward, he pointed to the unused casks and asked Snoga, "What about them?"

"Holdin' 'em in reserve," Snoga replied as if put upon that such a beast would even think of questioning him. "From what I've heard, this powder will take down that wall but prob'ly won't do much damage to th' main fort buildin' inside. If'n that's true, then those Northland shrews could come swarmin' outta there like a few hunnerd angry hornets once we blow their defenses. Can't expect t' hold 'em all back with just our slings an' yer fifteen archers."

Glebocka suppressed a scowl, remembering to maintain his subservient facade. "In reserve fer what? You got no catapults this side o' th' river, an' no other way o' deliverin' them ... "

"We got some good strong otters who'll be able t' hurl those casks a good long way if they hafta," said Snoga. "Better t' have a few extras in case we need 'em than not."

"That wasn't the arrangement," Glebocka pressed. "Kothar gave you enuff t' do th' job ye're s'posed to do, an' no more."

"Aw, quit grousin', rat! We'll hold up our end, don't you worry 'bout that. I'm in charge here, an' I know what I'm doin', so mind yer place! An' get yer arrows ready - we might be needin' 'em anytime after those kegs go off!"

"Aye aye ... sir." Glebocka's fear was that Snoga knew exactly what he was doing ... and that those plans might not include the searats along every step of the way. Kothar had allotted the True Guosim leader a quantity of the explosive compound adequate to strike the first blow against Urthblood's forces, and if Snoga was holding any of it back, it could only be because he planned to use it for his own purposes ... whatever those might be.

Kothar was right. This pugnacious shrew would need to be watched very closely indeed.

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Hanchett had endured a long and bumpy ride in the back of the covered munitions wagon that followed the catapults through the woods. The only times his hood and gag came off were for meals and rest breaks, which the hare estimated he was allowed roughly half as often as his captors. Even at those times, his paws remained bound, and he was never left unguarded. He and searat steel became close acquaintances during those two very long days.

_I oughtta jolly well pee all over their little barrels back here, that'd show 'em!_ he thought to himself more than once whenever his bladder neared its capacity, but simple Long Patrol decorum prevented him from engaging in such an uncouth display. Besides, he'd be the one who'd have to ride in it afterwards anyway; these rats didn't strike him as the sort to stop and swab out the back of their wagon for his comfort.

If Hanchett had possessed even the shred of a clue as to the trouble he would have caused Kothar by relieving himself on the stormpowder kegs (for that's what the cart's principle cargo was), he would have thrown both decorum and hygiene to the wind and let loose. As it was, both hare and powder casks reached their destination dry on the outside.

Two pairs of seasalt-toughened paws grabbed Hanchett and flung him out of the cart and onto the wet ground with an ungentle thud. He knew from the patters against the wagon's stretched canvas roof that it had been raining off and on for some time, and the darkness behind his hood told him that it was night. The cart had stopped a while ago, even as the tortured strainings and creakings of the catapults could still be heard from up ahead. Hanchett guessed they had made it to wherever they were headed ... a guess that was confirmed when he was so ignominiously deposited upon the forest floor to make room for the munitions rats to work. He tried to protest, tumbled tail-over-ears in an undignified heap, but the gag kept his mutterings to muffled moans.

When the sack was ripped from his head, Hanchett's eyes could scarcely discern the difference. The night forest around him lay in a darkness so dense he literally could not see the whiskers in front of his face - or his forward-drooped ears either. Contorting himself to arrive at some semblance of a sitting position, he blinked until he was fairly sure he could just make out a rat standing over him, an unpleasant silhouette against the pitch black woodlands.

"Congratulations!" Kothar taunted. "You're about to become the only woodlander with a front row seat to this demonstration of King Tratton's power! The only woodlanders not on our side, at any rate. Even here in Mossflower, our enemies are not beyond the reach of the Searat King!"

"Mrrph flmng grnngh!" said Hanchett.

"Sorry, but your audience shall have to remain a mute one. We have a few hundred shrews across the river who don't know we're here, and I'm not about to let 'em know who they're dealin' with."

Hanchett digested this. Well, at least now he had a fix on just where he was. Straining his ears, he could faintly hear the flow of the river in the near distance, a sound that had blended into the rainy night until he actively searched for it. But, if they were just across the broadstream from Doublegate, surely Captain Tardo's forces would have heard the ruckus these searats had raised. So how could Kothar think this could still be any kind of sneak attack? Hanchett knew from his own time spent at Urthblood's shrew fortress that they never dropped their guard or allowed their vigilance to grow lax. Surely they must be aware even now that some manner of threat was close at paw.

Of course, with no long-range weaponry of their own, what could they do even if they did know? The rats held the upper paw here, and they knew it. Hanchett had never seen the stormpowder in action - his sole knowledge of that weapon came from the secondpaw accounts that had reached Redwall - so he could not fully appreciate the danger this searat contingent represented to Doublegate, even without Snoga's stormpowder-supplied forces factored into the scenario. Still, it was clear from Kothar's manner that he anticipated a major triumph here.

One of the powder handlers approached the spyrat. "Uh, sir, we gotta light a lantern or two t' see what we're doin'. Gettin' them kegs properly fused is tricky work, an' it can't be done in this dark ... "

Kothar mulled it over. "All right - two lamps, no more. I think we're far enough back from the river and into the woods that the trees and the catapults themselves should shield us. But keep the lanterns inside the cart just to be safe."

"Aye, sir."

"And, uh, have a care that you don't place those lamps too close to any of the powderkegs or the treated fuses. If that lot goes up all at once, they'll be able t' see it all the way up at Redwall, an' hear it clear out to Salamandastron ... an' we'd all be enjoyin' the show from Dark Forest Gates!"

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"It's gotten awful quiet over there. Think they're gone?"

Fryc chewed on nothing even as he stared at much the same. "Dunno. That hullabaloo cut off pretty abruptlike. Don't know why some gang'd raise such a ruckus, then cut an' run all of a sudden. Makes no sense ... "

"Mebbe they was just tryin' t' scare us ... "

"Well, didn't work. We ain't goin' anywheres, an' I ain't exactly quakin' on my footpaws!"

"P'raps t'was jus' some local tribe o' crazy otters or voles or somesuch decidin' t' have a little fun with us. We know them Toor riverdogs ain't head over heels in love with us ... "

"Wouldn't put it past 'em," admitted Fryc. "But on a night like this of all nights?"

"What better night, sir? Waterbeasts wouldn't mind a little rain, an' they'd know this river an' woods like their own tails, so they'd be able t' move about in pitch dark without any trouble. An' they might also know jus' what t' do t' make a racket like we jus' heard ... "

"Yeah. Mebbe ... " Fryc leaned out over the sharpened-stake battlements and glanced down at Corporal Morkin's squad, who'd now reached the riverbank between the fort's outer gate and the moored searat submarine. Morkin's shrews bore numerous lanterns and torches among them; apparently they preferred making possible targets of themselves to remaining quite literally in the dark. They also wanted to present a show of vigilance down by the captured vessel. Anybeast watching must be made to know that Urthblood's troops would not be caught sleeping this night, and that any thieves lurking in the shadows who might harbor designs on the strange craft would be well advised to abandon any such plans.

"Hey, Mork!" the shrew sergeant called. "How're we lookin' down there?"

"Nothin' goin' on that we c'n see, Sarge," Morkin replied. "Course, we can't see beyond our lamplight much less t' the other side o' th' river, but on this bank all looks as it should be ... "

"Awright. Jus' stay on yer toes, an' keep sharp fer anything fishy ... "

"Y' mean like loud crunchin', squeakin' noises in th' night?" Morkin joked.

"Yeah. Just like that." Fryc leaned back from the spiked walltop and muttered to himself, "An' I hope a pike jumps up outta th' river an' bites yer tail off!"

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Snoga's shrews could scarcely believe it when they were able to approach the wall of Urthblood's shrew fort without meeting any challenge whatsoever.

Snoga had planned this as a hit and run operation, assuming that even on this dark night some of his stormpowder-bearing teams would be spotted and called out by the walltop sentries. For them to find the entire east, west and north ramparts seemingly abandoned was so improbable that they'd not even entertained the notion.

Yet here they stood, nose-to-timber with the stockade wall of their adversary's stronghold, nobeast hollering at them to retreat, surrender or declare themselves and no rain of slingstones or arrows falling upon their heads. It was still very much a hit and run operation, but now they could take a few extra moments of preparation to make those hits count for more.

While the kegbearers stood back, protectively clutching the fuse-primed casks to their chests to keep them from the least trace of moisture on this all-around damp night, their attendants set to work with spear and trowel, breaking up the wet earth and scooping out small hollows at the wall's base to deposit the kegs for maximum effect. Snoga had made it clear that the kegs should be dug in if at all possible, and since that was looking to be quite possible, that's what was done now at more than a score of spots all along Doublegate's north, east and west wall.

The tools they used were all wood, to reduce the sounds of rod and blade scraping against hard-packed soil, but still they were not entirely silent by any means, and the True Guosim wielding them often paused to glance nervously up at the unseen ramparts above, half-expecting to be caught at any moment. But they weren't, and one by one the kegs were lowered into their blast pits and painstakingly positioned for their final moments in this world.

Then it was the turn of the flint and tinder shrews to spark up their tiny licks of flame and apply them to the waiting fuses. These lengths of waxy twine were infused with just the merest traces of stormpowder, so that anybeast lighting them would have sufficient time to get safely clear before the sparking flame reached the incendiary payload.

Each team was on its own, unable to see the others through the darkness or around the curve of the timber wall, and unwilling to risk calling attention to themselves by yelling out in the night. Thus, the first fuse was lit and its team in full retreat while other crews still toiled in emplacing and lighting their own casks. But it was a big wall, after all, so surely the laggers could continue with their work even after the first charges started to blow, without fear of getting caught in the blasts themselves. As long as most of the kegs went off, the destruction ought to be great enough to satisfy Snoga's violent desires.

The countdown to utter pandemonium had begun.


	22. Chapter 105

Chapter One Hundred and Five

Now that the mysterious noises from across the river had abated, the peaceful stillness of a rainy summer night settled fully over the forest around Doublegate.

Sergeant Fryc stood, paws resting upon two of the sharpened battlement timbers, senses alert and nerves on edge. No, there was more to this expectant calm than could be accounted for by mere normalcy. The break in the showers had removed the pervasive chorus of raindrop patters from the night's music, but it took Fryc and his fellow lookouts some time to realize that the usual insect noises had fallen silent as well. Only the sweeping ripple of the river's ceaseless flow prevented the encompassing darkness from falling completely mute. That, and perhaps some faint, distant scraping sounds that may or may not have been tricks of the ear ...

"Skojol," Fryc murmured to the shrew at his side, "I reckon mebbe it's time fer somebeast t' go wake Cap'n - "

The first explosion obliterated the quiet blackness, roaring like a thousand badgers in the grip of Bloodwrath and banishing the night with a fireball the size of the searat vessel Fryc guarded. The boom rocked the sentry shrews on their footpaws, and the flash that lit up the entire area might have blinded them had they not been facing south, looking away from the fortress at their backs.

Now, every shrew on the south walltop turned as one to behold this impossible development. The fireball was already fading as they redirected their gazes to the east wall, the strange sounds from across the river all but forgotten. Fryc and his fellow sentries, all having come down to Mossflower overland from the north, had never seen the stormpowder in action, and more than one of them immediately concluded that an errant bolt of lightning must have struck the fort, since absolutely nothing else in their experience could begin to explain this. From where they stood on the south ramparts of the slightly lower outer wall, they could not see the full extent of the damage that had been wrought on their garrison - the timbers that had been fragmented or toppled, the others that were only just starting to catch fire, and the section of the walkway that simply was not there anymore. Even if they had been able to make out this destruction, they might still have attributed it to a meteorological cause; what else could it have been?

Before any of them could say a word or marshal their scattered thoughts, a second flash and concussion came from the west wall to their left, across from the stricken east stockade fence. The flash cast the walltops and the main barracks in sharp relief, angular black silhouettes against the yellow-orange burst, but this time it was clear that no lightning bolt from the sky had preceded the bone-jarring blast. This was something quite different, something controlled and directed at Doublegate specifically. Suddenly, Captain Tardo's accounts of his winter battle with the searats along the coast loomed very large in all their minds.

"Oh, logjam!" Fryc cursed, but his voice was utterly lost in the third explosion which devastated another portion of the east wall.

He knew now that they were under attack ... and it was a manner of attack against which they were ill-prepared to cope.

00000000000

The first explosion literally knocked Tardo out of his bed and onto the hardwood floor of his quarters, waking him from a deep slumber. In those preliminary, confused moments of consciousness, with the threads of dreams entangling his brain, he supposed the impossibly loud and violent boom which had so rudely roused him might have been an extremely close lightning strike ... but he really didn't think so.

The second blast brought him fully awake, and removed all doubt from his mind. "Searats!" he spat, pushing himself to his feet and reaching for his tunic. The third and fourth explosions arrived in quick succession, rattling the floorboards and wall slats all around him. Glancing out the window, he could see the flash and the fireball of the latest detonation, and assessed at once that this battle was already at the very walls of Doublegate.

A fifth concussion threw him against the door jamb as he stumbled out of his room into the common barracks on the top floor of the wood fortress. Already he could hear the confused melee of shouts and cries and mutterings from the rank-and-file shrews of his command, who'd been jolted from their sleep as abruptly as he had.

Tardo made his way to the head of the barracks dormitory, a single enormous open gallery that served as the sleeping quarters for over a hundred shrews. Every bed now stood empty, their former occupants crowded five deep at the windows as they jostled and elbowed to get a glimpse of what was happening outside. The shrew captain supposed that similar scenes of excited disorder had broken out in the other dormitories below, although the troops there would have even less of a view than from up here. But they weren't here to be spectators; they were professional fighting beasts, and now that they were under attack - no matter how unconventional the method employed by their enemy - there was only one thing they could do.

A bell hung from a bracket at the front of the room, a fixture to call order to routine assemblies and addresses in times of peace. Tardo grabbed the bellrope and gave it several furious tugs, filling the hall with an urgent clanging that his voice alone could never match, especially over the sixth and seventh explosions that filled the night.

He soon had their attention, nearly every head along the length of the barracks hall turned his way. "Awright, lissen up!" he bellowed. "This is an attack, plain 'n' simple, an' we gotta do what we're trained t' do! So let's get out there an' see what it is we're facin'! Long as th' inner wall holds, we can still keep our enemy outta here! We don't know how many foebeasts are out there - could be a few, could be a whole army - but we'll show 'em what we're made of! Now grab yer weapons, an' to yer stations! Lieutenant Persko, see t' gettin' 'em all deployed, while I muster th' troops below us!"

"Aye, Cap'n!"

Even as the storm of war continued to break against its walls, the shrews of Doublegate sprang into action to meet this attack as best they could.

0000000000

Lorr too was awakened by the first explosion, albeit not quite so rudely as Tardo's shrews. He might have dozed right through it, were he not by habit a light sleeper.

The eccentric bankvole inventor and tinkerer had spent another of his late nights down inside the commandeered searat vessel, poking and probing into every nook and cranny of the revolutionary vehicle and puzzling over how to best effect Urthblood's requested modifications. Work on this endeavor was still far from complete, given the limited resources and lack of skilled labor available to him at Doublegate, and would probably not be finished until well into summer, or perhaps even autumn. Lorr often pulled long nights on this project, sometimes toiling and fiddling straight through to dawn, until fatigue forced him to rest. Down inside the steel craft, the time of day was almost meaningless, since sunlight only found its way through the open top hatch for a brief time before and after each noontide.

Sometimes that fatigue would come upon Lorr so suddenly that he was left without the strength even to climb the ladder and return to his bed within the shrew fort. So, he'd slung a hammock for himself down in the sub for just such occasions. When sudden weariness or bleariness overtook him, he would simply dim some of the work lamps, take off his long overcoat and stretch out in the hammock until his body told him it had renewed itself.

Now he came awake with his body screaming at him that it was nowhere near refreshed. Lorr knew he couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour or two, judging by the sluggishness of both his thoughts and his muscles. He wasn't sure what had brought him to wakefulness, and for long moments he lay in his hammock staring at the ceiling of the underwater craft, poised on the threshold between sleep and consciousness.

The second distant boom answered this mystery for him. Tempted as he was to close his eyes and drift back to sleep, Lorr forced himself to swing out of his hammock and shrug into his multipocketed longcoat. The bankvole possessed a healthy respect for the power of lightning, and being within a metal ship in a river during an electrical storm was, he knew, not a good idea. He just hoped he could make it inside the fortress safely. He actually enjoyed watching a good thunderstorm with its displays of natural pyrotechnics, but only from a safe vantage.

As he set his paws upon the steel ladder rungs and began to climb, another boom reached his ears. Glancing up through the open hatchway above, Lorr caught the tail end of a fading flash in the night sky. He knew right away that the situation was not as he had first assessed it. For one thing, the timbre and nature of the concussion was distinctly different from any roar of thunder he'd ever heard. For another, the light he'd seen reflecting off the bottoms of the clouds - as if the source of the flash had come from the ground rather than the sky - was not the sharp blue-white of lightning but a warmer, yellow glow one would associate with fire of a more earthly origin. And he could not fail to notice that no rain fell through the hatch onto his upturned face - a detail which would not escape the attention of anybeast who wore glasses. So, what was going on here?

Lorr cleared the top lip of the hatch just in time to see the latest explosion ravage the outer defensive barrier of Doublegate. Although he had never seen the searats' stormpowder in use before, he knew from the stories he'd heard about it that this could be nothing else. The question of how searats had gotten themselves and their weapons this far inland was wide open in the bankvole's mind, and Lorr swept the downstream expanse of the river with his gaze, half-expecting to see a sister craft of the one in which he stood, come to retrieve her wayward sibling. But, as far as he could tell, his was the only vessel on the water.

He glanced shoreward once more, even as another pair of explosions burst at the base of the stockade wall. A pall of thick smoke was gathering over the shrew fort, from the blasts themselves and from the fires ignited among the devastated wall timbers. Lorr still couldn't see from which direction the attack was coming or how the charges were being delivered, but clearly the attack was focused upon the outer wall, which appeared to be down and burning in several places along its north, east and west sides - with the bulk of the fortress between him and the impacted areas, Lorr couldn't tell for certain.

As he stood there on the top rung, debating what to do as he balanced with both paws gripping the sides of the hatchway, Corporal Morkin on the bank at the other end of the gangplank noticed Lorr sticking up out of the searat vessel and motioned frantically for the bankvole to retreat back below the water. "Geddown! We're under attack!"

"Well, I _know_ we're under attack," Lorr said, in a voice that could not possibly have carried to the shore in the face of such violent sounds.

"Get back inside!" Morkin urged. "You'll be safer down there!"

Lorr did as he was told, more out of a sense of following a soldierbeast's orders in a military situation than because he personally agreed that this was the safest place for him to be. He pulled the hatch shut above him as he descended, although there was no way to lock it - that was one of the modifications Urthblood had wanted Lorr to make, but sadly he'd not gotten around to that particular detail just yet.

Climbing the rest of the way down to the rough plank floor of the sub, Lorr muttered to himself, "Yes, we're under attack, yes we are, and it's evidently by the searats, yes, to judge by those terrible, awful weapons that are being used. But, if searats are attacking Doublegate, what could they possibly be after other than this vessel?"

00000000000

Hanchett sat stunned and amazed by the sheer power of the searats' new weapon.

Kothar was overseeing the transfer of his own stormpowder kegs from cart to catapults when the first flash of Snoga's preliminary assault winked through the trees here on the south banks and the first thunderous roar tore the night apart. The spyrat grinned to himself. "Well, I guess that shrew came through after all!"

Leaving the stormpowder preparations to the others, Kothar stalked back to Hanchett and tore the gag from the hare's mouth. "No need for that anymore - you could shout your lungs out an' those shrews wouldn't be able t' hear you over that thunder!" He roughly hauled Hanchett to his feet and pushed him forward through the forest toward the more exposed riverbank. "Show's started, bunny - an' you're gonna have a front row seat for th' whole thing, as promised!"

Several more explosions rocked them on their footpaws by the time Kothar steered Hanchett to a semi-exposed rock shelf overlooking the river. From this vantage, they actually had a far better view of the proceedings than did Lorr, who was only just poking his head up out of the sub at that moment - but not as good a view as Sergeant Fryc and his fellow lookouts, who still stood dumbfounded above the south gate, watching the outer wall disintegrating around them. Hanchett too could only stand and stare openmouthed at what he was witnessing.

"Impressive, ain't it?" Kothar gloated. "Our stormpowder might not have been enough to drive Urthblood out of Salamandastron, but his shrews don't have a mountain to hide in! Wood walls won't protect 'em from what we'll be giving them tonight!"

"You murderous, bloody-pawed abomination!" Hanchett spat at the searat.

"That the best you can do?" Kothar grinned, pushing the hare down onto the wet rock. "Trust me, those shrews haven't started to begin their dyin' for tonight yet. Just keep watchin', an' you'll see what I mean!"

"Hey, sir!" one of the catapult rats called out. "You sure it's safe up there fer you? Could be flyin' shivers from that shrew fort ... "

Kothar studied the scene across the river. "Naw, Snoga's only attacking the sides away from the main gate facin' us. We'll be safe ... at least until we start adding our own thunder to this storm!" His eyes narrowed. "Hmm. Looks like they have guards down by our boat, maybe even one or two beasts inside it. No matter. We'll be dealing with them in good time. But first we have to show Urthblood's shrews that their troubles have only just begun!"

00000000000

"Sergeant! Sarge, whadda we do?"

Fryc was at a total loss. As one concussive, eardrum-tearing, bone-jarring blast followed another, the captain of this night's watch struggled to sort out possibilities and responsibilities in his mind. This was a searat attack, of that he had no doubt. But knowing what it was and knowing what to do about it were two very different things.

Fryc struggled to recall on the spot everything he'd heard about the battle with the searats along the coast the previous winter - no easy feat in the midst of so much tumult and confusion. With a great mental effort he summoned up all the details he could remember from Tardo's accounts - and instantly despaired. According to his best recollection, the primary strategy of Urthblood's troops on that occasion had been to scatter and retreat from the bombardment as best they could to avoid the blasts, and to engage in close-quarters combat with the enemy so that the searats could not employ their explosives without slaughtering their own. This tactic had seen them through until the seagull reinforcements had arrived to burn the dreadnought and end the threat forever.

And then there had been the springtime assault on Salamandastron itself, when Lord Urthblood and his forces had hunkered down inside the mountain stronghold to ride out a night of hellish salvos, after which the gulls had once more been unleashed to wreak total destruction upon Tratton's fleet.

Fryc's heart fell as he surveyed the situation before him. Where were they supposed to scatter and retreat to, holed up inside these walls as they were? And would they even be able to get outside to engage the enemy now, assuming that was the best strategy? The outer wall along the north, east and west sides appeared to be absorbing the brunt of this sneak attack, suggesting this was a landward offensive and that their foe were already present on this side of the river in considerable numbers ... but if the outer wall was collapsed and burning against the inner wallgate on the north end of the compound, they could very well find themselves sealed within Doublegate, unable to venture forth and take on the searats even if they wanted to. The defensive feature designed to make this fort all but impregnable to a massed siege might now prove to be the very thing that would trap them inside their burning garrison.

And this time, they would not be able to simply hunker down as Urthblood had at Salamandastron; this wood shell would not withstand an explosive assault as that natural rock citadel had. And unless that Badger Lord's prophetic vision had shown him these events ahead of time, they would not be able count on a squadron of seagull bombardiers to swoop in and save the day at the last moment. They were on their own for this ... and their chances weren't looking good.

"Sarge! What should we do?"

The insistent, demanding voices of his underlings brought Fryc back to his immediate responsibilities. "Gimme a moment, lemme think!" he snapped, to shut them up while he considered their next move.

Numerous rope-and-board gangplanks had connected inner and outer ramparts at various points around the fort's perimeter; many of those flimsy bridges must have gone down along with their corresponding sections of the outer wall. Fortunately, there were also several flights of steps leading down from the outer walltop - one of which, luck would have it, stood right alongside the south gate below them. Fryc knew that every shrew on this night's lookout shift was here with him, so none had been lost in the piecemeal demolition of the outer wall. The question now was, would they be safer where they were, or should they abandon this last intact stretch of the outer perimeter fence while they still could?

Fryc gazed across the water, then down at their side of the riverbank. Corporal Morkin's squad was still there, and the searat vessel did not seem to be in any immediate peril. Indeed, this quarter of Doublegate appeared to be the only face of the fortress not to have come under attack, strengthening Fryc's conviction that their enemy was land-based. But that didn't mean the searats wouldn't make a try for their craft before the night was over, especially since the origin of that commotion across the broadstream remained a complete mystery.

Morkin was yelling up to Fryc for orders. "Stay with that boat, Mork!" the sergeant called back. "If th' enemy tries t' grab it, get yer shrews inside an' hold it from there, but hold it!"

"Uh, aye, Sarge!"

Fryc glanced back toward Doublegate, and his heart lifted somewhat at the sight that greeted him. Scores of shrews appeared along the inner ramparts as he watched, roused from their sleep by the explosions and stirred to action by Captain Tardo and his lieutenants. Now that it was clear they were under attack, the defenders of Doublegate had reacted almost automatically, assuming their stations with weapons in paw and the fire of battle in their eyes.

A glow had begun to suffuse the night - the light from the fires which had started amongst the rubble of the outer wall, reflected from the underbellies of the low clouds. In that false dawn Fryc could make out the visage of Lieutenant Persko on the adjacent battlements across the way. "Ahoy up there, 'tenant!" Fryc hailed. "What's th' situation look like from up there?"

"Outer wall's mostly down three quarters o' the way 'round. What in Hellsgates happened, Sergeant?"

"They hit us from all sides at once, sir! Didn't even see 'em comin'!"

"Didja get a look at th' enemy t'all?"

"Uh, no, sir. They created some kinda diversion t' get all us lookouts here on th' south walltops 'fore they struck." Fryc didn't know for a fact that this was what had happened, but it sounded good as a cover story as to why the north, east and west approaches had been left unwatched. "Didn't get so much as a peek at 'em, th' sneaky vermin!"

"What kinda diversion?" Persko asked.

"Er, just some loud noises. Um, what should we do now, 'tenant? You want we should fall back to th' inner walltop, or stand our ground here t' guard that rat boat?" Fryc secretly hoped the answer would be the former.

"Th' boat? Oh, yeah - I'd almost forgot about that. No sign o' the enemy 'round on this side yet?"

"Not so far, sir."

"Okay, then hold yer positions. If they ain't struck us on this side yet, must be 'cos they ain't able to. Keep watch over that ship, an' if they charge en masse an' threaten t' overwhelm you, you c'n retreat along th' footbridges to th' inner wall - we still got a couple of 'em in place down this way, even if all th' rest've been taken out."

"Um ... aye, sir." Fryc wasn't any great deal happier about being told to maintain his walltop position than Morkin had been about staying down by the searat vessel. But orders were orders ... and who could say? Perhaps this was the safest place to be after all.


	23. Chapter 106

Chapter One Hundred and Six

It only made sense that a spy would have a spyglass.

Kothar stood between the two catapults, studying the scene across the river through his long glass. It appeared that the last of Snoga's charges had detonated, and the night had grown relatively quiet once more, except for the excited, distant shouts of the shrews in their besieged fortress. Kothar's vantage prevented him from viewing the full extent of the damage caused by Snoga's first assault wave, but the spyrat had counted twenty-three blasts, and if each of those kegs had been in place at the fort's walls when they blew, the destruction must have been massive.

In the back of his mind, Kothar made a mental note that twenty-three was seven fewer stormpowder kegs than he'd supplied his shrew ally. And while it was always possible that a few had failed to go off for some reason or had been intercepted before they could be put in place, Kothar suspected there might be another reason for the shortfall - such as some of the kegs never being deployed at all.

Still in all, twenty-three was respectable, and more than enough to have caused Urthblood's shrews plenty of grief and confusion for the opening strike of this engagement. Now came Kothar's turn to fill the night with beast-made thunder, and issue some payback for the losses Tratton had suffered at the badger warlord's paw.

"Hmm ... looks like there are still some of Urthblood's shrews down at our ship ... and more on the wall overlooking it. Both walls, in fact - unless my eye deceives me, there's a higher one just behind the one facing us. Wonder if it's like that all the way around? If so, those shrews could still be holed up in their fort, tryin' to keep Snoga's rabble out of there. Doesn't really matter much to me, it won't affect our plans any ... "

Kothar turned to the gunner on his right. "Think you can hit those walls overlooking the river? Those shrews there might give Glebocka trouble when time comes for him to try for our vessel. I'd like to clear the way for him a bit, if we can."

"Might take a few shots t' zero in on 'em, sir," the artillery rat said with confidence, "but I'm sure I c'n do it."

"Aim long, not short," Kothar warned. "We don't want to end up sinkin' our own boat!"

00000000000

Now that the smoke was clearing from the first wave of explosions, the fires burning sporadically along the mostly-demolished outer wall provided sufficient flickering illumination to assess the battle damage. And Snoga didn't like what he was seeing.

"Huh? What? A ... another wall, inside th' first?" The True Guosim chieftain squinted and strained into the night from between his sheltering trees. "Those ... those sneaky, shifty, crafty, tricky, no good shrews!"

"Didn't you scout this place out at all?" Glebocka accused from behind Snoga.

"Shaddup! We'll just hafta work around this, is all. Good thing I kept a few kegs o' that powder in reserve, ain't it?"

"What little you kept would barely dent that inner wall," the spyrat scoffed. "All we did was rile 'em up an' put 'em on th' defensive! You'll not be gettin' anywhere near that second wall now t' place yer charges - they'd see ya comin' a mile away by th' light of th' fires we started! An' they'll prob'ly have scores o' guards swarmin' 'round that boat on th' river, too. We won't be gettin' close to it now!"

"Then yer pal Kothar had better come though on his end," Snoga spat back. "We did our part, jus' like we was s'posed to. Ain't our fault that Urthblood's shrews pulled this surprise on us. If yer boss hadn't been so stingy with th' stormpowder he gave us, mebbe we could do somethin' 'bout it, but it's water past th' rocks now ... "

Glebocka, glowering, retreated back into the night shadows, not pressing the point. Snoga was already starting to regard him as the leader and spokesbeast of these archer rats, and he didn't want the renegade shrew chief to make the next intuitive jump, that Glebocka was no mere archerbeast but something much more.

A commotion from the forest behind them made Snoga turn away from the firelit fastness of Doublegate. "Hey, what's goin' on back there?"

A passel of Snoga's more loyal shrews staggered forward, pushing before them several reluctant otters. "We caught these waterdogs tryin' t' make a break fer it," one shrew reported.

"That so?" His siege of the Northlanders' garrison momentarily forgotten, Snoga stomped over to confront the would-be deserters. "What's th' matter, ruddertails? Decided all of a sudden y' don't care fer our company?"

One of the otters gestured toward the spare stormpowder casks, then toward Doublegate. "This ain't what we signed on fer. We didn't know you was gonna use anythin' like that!"

"Aw, what're ya complainin' 'bout? You ain't hadta do any fightin' or work. Don't you want these invaders outta yer lands?"

"Aye, that we do. An' I think we jus' sent 'em a message loud an' clear that they ain't welcome hereabouts, a message they can't ignore."

"Pah! This ain't about sendin' messages, plankhead! If we gave up now an' went slinkin' off inta th' night, they'd jus' laugh at us from inside th' safety o' their trick hidden wall! Why, I bet we didn't kill more'n a dozen of 'em! That's not gonna make 'em go anywhere!"

"Mebbe so. But we're here fer an honest fight, not sneakin' 'round with magic explodin' kegs that knock down walls!"

"Then stick around. If them shrews come spillin' out at us all at once, you'll have more fight than you could ever want ... "

The first of the shrew teams who'd bombed the north side of Doublegate came stumbling through the dark forest to rejoin Snoga's main force. Poss was at their lead. "Boss, them Northlanders've got another tall fence b'hind th' first one!"

"Tell me somethin' I don't know!" Snoga verbally assaulted the hapless scout. "I got eyes o' my own!"

Poss glanced out between the trees at the east face of Doublegate. "Hmm ... no gate on this side."

"Huh? What's that, Poss?"

"There's a big gate on the north side o' that fort, Chief. Could see it plain as day when th' outer wall came down. Must be how they get in an' out o' th' main part o' th' fort ... "

"Was there any gate on th' west side?" Snoga pounced.

"Uh, I dunno. I wasn't around that far ... "

Snoga waited until some of the shrews who'd mined the west wall reported in; it took them the longest to return, since they'd faded straight back into the forest on their side of the fortress and then circled back to their comrades under cover of the woods. They confirmed with certainty that no gate had been visible in the inner west wall either.

"That's it, then!" Snoga practically cackled. "That must be their only way in an' outta there. I see it now - th' true entrance to th' inner fort was hidden b'hind that outer wall, so that any horde tryin' t' get in would hafta go in th' south gate an' then go all th' way 'round. Good thing we had them powderkegs, eh? If we'd just stormed th' place an' somehow managed t' get past th' south outer gate, we'da found ourselves trapped 'tween th' walls, bein' shot at from both ramparts. We woulda been massacred!"

"So, whadda we do now?" asked Kellom, loyally waiting on his chieftain's orders.

"It's obvious, ain't it? We put th' bulk o' our forces right opposite that gate, every archer 'n' slinger at th' ready. If they got a notion 'bout comin' out t' charge us, we'll cut 'em down fast as they clear th' gate! Keep 'em bottled up inside while Kothar does 'is worst!"

Snoga's gaze searched out Glebocka's group, hanging back in the pervasive shadows of the night. "You, rats! Time t' earn yer way! Get around t' th' north side an' take up firin' positions, with that gate in yer sights! You otters, go with 'em so you can add yer slings t' their shafts; you wanted some real fightin', now's yer chance! An' as fer th' rest o' you ... "

Glebocka led his rats away, ostensibly to follow Snoga's orders, while the false Log-a-Log divvied up his shrew forces. In truth, obedience was the last thing on the spyrat's mind; by leading his archers out ahead of the others, he was free to break away from his fellow searats without being noticed and double back toward Snoga. Let the others keep up the pretense of serving at the bullying shrew's leisure; Glebocka had his own orders.

Snoga ended up dispatching all but twoscore of his most loyal shrews to accompany the rats and otters to the north side of Doublegate. As soon as they were all safely gone, the scheming shrew leader turned to his paw-picked team. "Awright, you five, grab those stormpowder kegs, then all o' you foller me! We got a ship t' liberate!"

As they set out for the riverbank, none noticed the longbow-bearing figure, solitary and stealthy as the night itself, trailing after them at a discreet distance.

00000000000

Sergeant Fryc and the other shrews along the walltop cocked their ears this way and that, straining the now-hushed night with their hearing even as their gazes searched the dim surroundings for any visible signs of the enemy whatsoever. The entire character of this overcast night had undergone a radical transformation; the previous near-total darkness had been dispelled by the eerie glow of the surrounding wallfires reflecting off the low-hanging cloudbanks and casting an otherworldly glow over the entire area. But even with this vaguest hint of illumination lending itself to the scene, the Northlanders could still discern no movement or enemy presence beyond their last remaining wall.

"It's gotten awful quiet agin," ventured an enlisted shrew on Fryc's left. "Y' don't s'pose they've retreated, now that we've got what's left of our walltops packed with defenders?"

"Dunno," replied the sergeant. "Could be they've used up all that thunder-stuff they had with' 'em. If so, then we got off lucky bein' 'round on this side o' th' ramparts, where they weren't able t' - "

A sudden flare of firelight momentarily flickered on the opposite banks of the broadstream directly across from them, dying away to darkness again almost as soon as it had appeared. That brief, distant flash may or may not have been enough to reveal several beasts standing around it - it was hard to tell for sure - but it instantly caught and held the attention of every shrew defender who noticed it.

"Hey, what's - "

Before Fryc could get another word out, a curious sound from across the river cut him off with a loud whispering swish, even as a second light flared from a slightly different place on the opposite bank.

A heartbeat later, the first of Kothar's catapult-launched stormpowder kegs smashed into the upper reaches of the inner wall behind Fryc, ripping the night asunder once more. The explosion instantly killed Lieutenant Persko and three of his companions, and maimed a dozen others with flying slivers and fragmented timber. One of Fryc's immediate companions, having chosen a particularly unfortunate spot in which to stand, was pushed forward by the blast force and impaled through the chest by one of the sharpened battlement timbers, while another was blown completely over the wall and fell with a scream upon Corporal Morkin's squad below.

The second sparking cask, launched moments later from the other catapult, arced over the high inner wall and landed in the courtyard between the fence and the barracks house, erupting with great violence but causing only minor injuries to passing shrews who were still on their way out of the main building to the walltop. But this follow-up shot had a greater impact than the negligible damage it caused; by coming on the heels of the first in such rapid succession, it showed that their attackers commanded at least two of the battle engines for launching the kegs, and that this assault was not yet over by a long sight. The mere fact that they were now being assailed from a brand new direction on their last intact front would by itself have been enough to shake the confidence of the Northland fighters.

Kothar's artillery crews, however, were just getting started.

Fryc, deafened by the close proximity of the explosions above and behind him, stared in shocked awe at the gaping hole in the inner walltop where only moments before battlements and ramparts and Lieutenant Persko had been. If these villains were now going to target the inner wall as they had the outer one ...

Except that here beside the river, the outer wall still stood - and Fryc was standing right on top of the next logical target for destruction. The panicked shrew sergeant glanced down at the walkway beneath his footpaws which could disintegrate into splinters at any moment, then threw his gaze back across the river. His only immediate superior on the scene had been annihilated, leaving him to his own best judgment and leaving the troops around him looking to him for orders. Under the circumstances, he could do only one thing in good conscience.

"Abandon th' wall!" he yelled at the score or so of shrews still with him atop the outer battlements. "Get across th' footbridges to th' inner wall! Move it, move it!"

His underlings needed no second bidding. At once they broke for the two nearest gangplanks linking the inner and outer ramparts, fleeing the most vulnerable points of their current position as quickly as they could. Fryc had every intention of being right behind them, when a shout from below caught his attention and made him hesitate. Sticking his head over the wall, he could see Corporal Morkin staring anxiously up at him.

"Hey, Sarge, what should we do now?"

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Kothar studied the results of the first salvo through his long glass.

"Just a little lower on the right there, tho' you got that inner wall pretty good. Still, we wanna try 'n' get that outer barrier down first, then we'll have a clear shot at the one behind it. You rats on my left, you went clear over both of 'em, so take it down a fair notch. Let's see if we can't land our next two shots right smack in the middle of that nearer wall an' bring it down, along with anybeast who's still on top of it!"

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Captain Tardo stood at the opposite end of the fort when the south wall came under attack.

When it became clear that only the east, north and west sides of Doublegate had been targeted by this incendiary sneak attack, Tardo proceeded directly to the north walltop above the inner gate. Normally he would have gone right to the south outer gates in such a siege situation, but the destruction of the outer wall made that entryway irrelevant, for now the north, inner entrance had been laid bare and would-be invaders did not have to come the long way around between the twin defensive barriers.

And laid bare it was, that much was obvious at a glance. But the news here was both good and bad. While the outer wall was almost completely down along the north side of the stronghold, none of the explosive damage seemed to have impacted the inner wall which now stood as their only line of defense between them and their unseen enemy. More importantly, none of the smoldering debris had fallen against the north gate, trapping them inside or threatening to burn away the heavy timber door they were depending upon to keep out their foe ... whoever, wherever or however many there were.

In short order, every step of the intact inner battlements was packed with tensed and ready shrew warriors; indeed, with nearly four hundred of the small but determined creatures on paw, there were more than enough for that purpose. But no matter which part of the ramparts they occupied, no matter which direction they looked or how hard they gazed, they could see no trace of any enemy. It was as if some malevolent force had materialized out of the night just long enough to deal this impossibly vicious blow to their defensive infrastructure, then vanished just as mysteriously, leaving no telltale signs of its nature or existence other than the devastation that lay in its wake.

Tardo had expected to see ... well, something. Anything but the empty clearing that now surrounded his crippled garrison on all sides.

"Where are they?" he muttered to himself in perplexed frustration; he wanted - needed - an enemy to fight, and none was to be found. "Where are they?"

As if in mocking reply, first one and then the other of Kothar's volleys exploded behind him, rattling his bones in his flesh anew. Tardo turned in time to see the second fireball rising into the sky behind the barracks building, and he knew right then and there that the south side of Doublegate was not to be spared in this assault.

_Be careful what you ask for_, the shrew captain said to himself as he shouldered and jostled his way south along the crowded walltop to take stock of this newest development. _You may just get it._

Behind him, several dozen stalwart shrew archers and slingers held the portal above the crucial north gates. But neither they nor their commander had any inkling of the enemy force that was making its way invisibly through the distant forest, and was soon to play a key role in these events.

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Before Fryc could even think of what to tell the awaiting Morkin below him, another pair of brief flashes across the river caught the Sergeant's eye. Fryc didn't know exactly how the stormpowder worked - how the fuses for the kegs had to be lit before they could be flung from their catapults to wreak their explosive damage upon their targets - but he'd surmised that those seemingly-innocuous flashes in the distant forest preceded the last thunderous bombardment, and undoubtedly presaged another.

Without bothering to yell any warning to his fellow shrews, Fryc threw himself face-first onto the rampart deck and braced for what was surely to come.

The pair of whooshing swishes from the opposite bank came right on schedule as the catapult arms snapped forward. Fryc gritted his teeth and dug his claws into the wood walkway beneath him, muscles tensed almost to the breaking point.

Both stormpowder bombs impacted squarely against the outer wall. One hit close to the top of the timber barrier, obliterating a section of the battlements behind Fryc; if he'd been lying a dozen paces farther along in that direction, he would have been pulverized along with the ramparts. The other found a spot lower on the wallface in front of him, blasting a gaping hole in the defensive barrier and sending out a swarm of flying spears and slivers that slew several of Morkin's shrews below even as the rest were knocked off their footpaws by the double blast.

Fryc hung on for dear life as the entire wall shook and shuddered beneath him. But it was not only the violent vibrations from the explosions that had him clinging for all he was worth to the woodwork of the walltop walkway. Unlike the other parts of the outer stockade wall which had been targeted for destruction this night, this particular stretch contained the main gates into the fortress, and thus the barrier here lacked the structural integrity of its other sections. The second charge had hit near the gate's edge, blasting the giant door off its crude hinges. This, combined with the other damage inflicted by the explosion, had doomed this portion of the outer wall.

The shrew sergeant hoped he was just imagining things when his sense of equilibrium began to scream at him that the walkway under him was shifting, but within moments those screams became too insistent to ignore. The wall was toppling outward, with him right on top of it.

At the last moment, acting almost on instinct, Fryc rolled himself over the inner lip of the ramparts as if to fling himself down to the ground between the twin walls, but instead caught onto the edge and dangled there. Already the wall leaned so far out that his footpaws came into contact with its inner face. Before he knew it, the previously vertical surface was tilted at a forty-five degree angle, and he lay stretched out upon the side that would - hopefully - land facing upwards. And still the wall continued to fall.

The collapsing structure smashed down flat upon Corporal Morkin's stunned squad, crushing the dead and living alike and snuffing out any who'd survived the explosion. Fryc, knocked free by the jarring force of the wall's landing, tumbled head over tail clear off the edge of the now-horizontal timbers, rolling right down the riverbank and splashing into the cool night waters.

Fryc came to rest submerged from the waist down, chin and forepaws pressed against the damp earth just alongside the submarine's gangplank. His eyelids fluttered open, and he forced himself to remain conscious just long enough to make sure that he was still alive and in no immediate danger of drowning. Satisfied that this was indeed the case, he closed his eyes once more and gave a groan as he surrendered his pained awareness to the welcome void.

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"How's our hare enjoying the show?"

One of the rats alongside Kothar gave a chuckle. "Oh, he's glued to 'is seat, last I checked! Kinda hard not t' be, when yer wrists an' ankles're bound t'gether, harr harr! But 'ee's certainly gettin' an eyeful, an' that's sure 'nuff!"

"If I decide to let him live, he'll be able to tell all of Mossflower about what he's witnessed here tonight. Let no woodlander ever again doubt the power of King Tratton!"

As the others around him cheered in what they supposed was the required fashion, Kothar scanned their target through his spyglass to assess the latest round of damage. A voice to his left said, "Looks like we took out that nearer wall pretty well. Where should we aim fer now?"

"Well, if there are anymore shrews on top of what's left of that outer wall, I don't see them. And the ones who were down guardin' our ship will have to dig themselves out from beneath those logs if they wanna stop us now! But that still leaves a lot of 'em up on that second wall, who'll be able t' snipe at Snoga an' Glebocka when they make their move to reclaim our vessel. We wanna try t' clear th' way for 'em as much as we can ... but at the same time, if we blast away that inner wall completely, then there won't be anything to stop Urthblood's shrews from floodin' outta there an' causing us a whole lotta grief. What we wanna do is target just th' top of that wall, drive 'em down from there without giving 'em a way out through this side of their fortress. So aim just a tad higher than you did for the outer wall, an' let's see what that gets us ... "

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Captain Tardo's crowded rush for the south walltop was cut short by the two new explosions from that direction, that took down Fryc and the outer wall there. "Mebbe t'wouldn't be a good idea for me t' get too close t' that," he muttered to himself, redirecting his steps to the nearest set of wall stairs and hastening down to the courtyard below.

If their attackers had any further plans at all to engage them on the east, north or west sides, those plans were being held very close to the vest. Perhaps their only interest had been in taking down the outer wall, so that Doublegate would be stripped of one entire defensive layer and the main entryway at the garrison's north end would be exposed for fire or battering ram. Tardo had received word that all that night's sentries had been diverted to the south walltop, and no doubt this had allowed their foe to visit such destruction upon their unguarded flanks. It was a perfect strategy.

Except that now, given this new spate of explosions from their south quarters, Tardo was beginning to wonder whether it was the demolition of the outer wall which had been the diversion, and that now something even more momentous was about to be visited upon them.

The shrew commander drew to a halt at the base of the inner south wall, taking stock of the situation as best he could from that vantage. Just to his right, the crater from the stormpowder keg that had cleared both walls still smoldered in the middle of the parade grounds. Above him, he could see the concave stretch of the inner walltop where the other cask of that first salvo had hit; it looked like an enormous bite had been taken out of the fortifications by some unimaginable monster. His fearless Northland fighters still stood packing the battlements to either side of the gap in the walkway, although they were clearly rattled by these unexpected tactics and the unforgiving fury of these new weapons. At least it didn't appear that any of the infrastructure here had caught fire; if the inner wall started to burn as well, they would be hard pressed to keep Doublegate from falling.

"What's going on out there?" he yelled up to his shrews overlooking the river.

"Lieutenant Persko's dead," came the reply from an enlisted shrew on the ramparts, "an' we just lost th' south gate an' most o' the outer wall t' either side o' it. Sergeant Fryc went down with it ... an' I think there may've been a squad outside guardin' th' rat boat. If so, they're under th' wall now, flattened inta th' riverbank."

"Fur an' floatsam!" Tardo spat. If their enemy was going to refocus their offensive against this point, it could mean that they were primarily interested in getting back their underwater vessel ... in which case Doublegate might survive, but the commandeered searat craft they were charged with safeguarding would be taken from them. Either way, he'd lost two of his subcommanders, and the outer wall was now compromised on all sides.

Thoughts of the submarine inspired Tardo to consider another matter. "Hey, does anybeast know where - "

His inquiry was cut off and drowned out by yet another explosion. The force of this one blew Tardo straight back onto his tail. He quickly rolled over onto his stomach and threw both paws over his head to protect himself from flying splinters. A pair of heavy thuds to either side of him sounded where two shrews, blown off the walltop, hit the hard-packed ground.

Before Tardo could even raise his head to check on the identity of these two unfortunates, a second blast made him clutch his head even tighter. He should have known to expect the follow-up detonation; the previous salvos against their south defenses had also come in groups of two. But that should mean there would be another pause now. What good that would do them was another matter.

Tardo counted to ten so that the blast fragments would have a chance to settle, then slowly climbed to his feet and glanced up to take stock of the situation.

He'd contemplated ordering an evacuation of the south ramparts, but he saw now that such a thing would no longer be necessary, since there were now, to all intents and purposes, no south ramparts left. The latest bombardment had clearly been targeted at the upper reaches of the inner wall, and the shots could not have been placed more perfectly. Nearly the entire walltop overlooking the river had been reduced to an uneven, jagged and fractured expanse of shattered timbers. A few more bodies had landed around Tardo, but most of the shrews who'd held the battlements were simply gone - to where, Tardo had no idea.

Standing there staring at this incredible devastation, all traces of the question he'd been about to ask had been chased from his mind: Did anybeast know where Lorr was?

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At that very moment, the bankvole in question was following the unfolding situation as best he could through the searat ship's periscope.

Lorr was a peaceloving beast and about as unwarlike a soul as there could be. This was his first time in the middle of a battle; the very first pair of explosions from the catapult-launched casks had made it abundantly clear that that was precisely where he was.

Those closer-to-paw blasts inspired Lorr to see if he could make sense of what was happening ashore through the optical device. The periscope's view wasn't perfect - it could only be swiveled around at a 360º angle, not tilted up or down, and the nighttime vista remained murky at best in spite of the focusing dial - but that imperfect view was all Lorr needed to see the outer wall come down when the second salvo hit. He looked on in breath-held horror as the massive section of bound timbers crashed down onto the helpless stunned shrews below, and others (well, at least one, he was sure) were cast from the toppled battlements into the river. Even after the accounts he'd heard of the battles with the searats along the coast, Lorr had never imagined that such destructive fury could be unleashed by anybeast. He almost couldn't believe his eyes.

As much as he wanted to turn away, to avert his gaze from the atrocities he was witnessing as if that might undo this disaster, he could not. It was not just morbid fascination that held him in its grip, but a sense of self-preservation as well; if this vessel was the true objective of the attack, it would only be a matter of time before the enemy made a move to capture it. And although Lorr was in no position to offer resistance to any force of armed fighting beasts, he would at least be forewarned of their approach. Perhaps, if a lull came in this barrage, he could make a break for it and get clear of this craft, and leave it to whomever wanted it.

The third salvo drove home to him that his chance for escape might not come anytime soon. The top of the inner wall rose above his limited field of vision, but the flashes turned night to day and the concussions rang like dull, mighty clangs inside the steel vessel. The amount of smoldering debris that rained down against the fireballs' fading light gave ample testimony to the staggering damage wrought by this latest strike. Lorr knew that if this kept up, Doublegate's very existence was in jeopardy.

But, there was nothing he could do except to keep watching ... and so he did.


	24. Chapter 107

Chapter One Hundred and Seven

Hanchett was not so awestruck by this display of searat military might that all thought of escape had been banished from his mind.

Freed of the confining hood, he'd regained the one tool necessary before all others to effect such a plan: his vision. If he'd attempted to free himself while the sack covered his head, not even his keen hare hearing would have warned him whether some rat or other might be looking his way. But now, with his sight unobstructed and the searats' attention focused on their assault, he could turn his own energies toward liberating himself.

As luck would have it, the rocky outcrop where Kothar had placed him had its share of sharp corners and edges. Working with the stealth and subtlety for which the Long Patrol were renowned, Hanchett unobtrusively repositioned himself to hide his efforts as he sawed his wrist bonds against an appropriately jagged length of stone. He had to stop once when a rat came to check on him, but Hanchett put up a show of astounded outrage at the destruction being heaped upon Doublegate (in truth, that hadn't required much of an act), and this seemed to satisfy the seavermin's expectations. The rat took a moment to gloat, then wandered away while Hanchett returned to his own clandestine task.

Every time he thought he'd gotten used to the full extent of what this new searat weapon could do, its destructive fury astonished him anew. It was quite bad enough when the first salvo splintered a portion of the inner ramparts, but then the second bombardment brought down a wide front of the outer wall around the south gate, and now a much greater stretch of the inner walltop had been blasted into oblivion. And with each new explosion that lit the night with its brief fireball, Hanchett's nerves were frayed just a little bit more and his sensitive eardrums were battered just a little worse, until he was forced to cock his ears forward and down to shield them from the worst of the concussive din. He was beginning to doubt whether even Redwall itself could stand against such an assault.

For now, however, he could only look to himself. Maybe if he gained his freedom he could disrupt these searats' catapult activities enough to halt or at least slow their ravaging of the shrew fort. Perhaps if he slew their leader, the rest might lose heart, pack up their siege engines and withdraw. Then again, even if he could sever his wrist restraints, he would still be bound at the ankles, and a hare who couldn't run or kick wasn't much of a fighting hare at all. It might be all he could do just to free himself and get clear of here with his skin intact. First things first, as always ...

And so, while the searats stood in triumphant rapture at the devastation they caused, Hanchett continued to wear away at the rope around his wrists, one slow stroke at a time.

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Snoga's onrushing group began to falter when they got a good look at the war zone that lay in their path.

The outer wall around the south gate was already down, laid out flat upon the riverbank alongside their objective, and as they raced their uncertain way toward the searat submarine they saw the inner battlements consumed by the twin fireballs that annihilated wood and living flesh alike. Fully half the shrews in Snoga's entourage slowed to a hesitant stagger as they beheld the full scope of the incendiary onslaught directed against Doublegate's south face.

Snoga flustered and fumed at his subordinates as they slowed in their charge around him. "What're y' stoppin' fer? We're almost there!"

In truth, a fair distance still lay between them and the Northlanders' garrison, but Snoga was never one to let mere facts affect his thinking.

Kellom pointed at the scene of architectural carnage. "We can't run inta th' middle o' that, Boss! We'd get fragmented!"

"Aw, quit yer yelpin' an' get a move on! Kothar ain't gonna shoot at us!"

"How d' you know he'll even be able ta see us in this dark?"

"He'll see us, alright - 'nuff light from all th' fires we've started t' be sure o' that. Besides, he ain't gonna aim too low an' risk hittin' his own boat!"

"His boat?" Kellom asked, confused. "I thought it was a seavermin craft, an' Kothar's a woodland rat ... "

"Well, he means t' make it his own, is what I meant t' say, an' that ain't gonna happen if he blasts it to th' bottom of th' river! Long as we stick close to th' bank, we should be okay."

"I dunno, Chief," said one of the shrews bearing a stormpowder keg. "There must be lotsa shards 'n' shivers flyin' ev'ry which way everytime one o' them casks goes off. An' what if more o' them Northland shrews come floodin' outta there t' guard that iron boat?"

"I got an idea 'bout that, too. Lissen up! Here's what we'll do ... "

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Only a few fragments of the south outer ramparts remained intact, and every shrew had either been evacuated or blown off of it by this time, leaving those remnants of the outer stockade wall unguarded and abandoned. Likewise, the wide section of the inner battlements that had been destroyed could no longer hold defenders, even if most of the wall below the shattered walkways remained standing - a barrier to keep Urthblood's shrews inside their stronghold while denying them a platform from which to shoot or sling at an enemy beyond. Kothar's bombardment had left the riverbank outside Doublegate almost wholly undefended, just as the spyrat had intended.

Captain Tardo had emerged from the destruction of the south fortifications relatively unscathed. A few large splinters had found his legs, tail and back, but these were nuisance injuries he chose to ignore as he made his way to the east walltop and down around almost to the ruined portion of the walkway. He wanted to see the damage for himself, from as close as he safely could.

A few dead and injured shrews lay upon the ramparts here, while even the uninjured fighters stood trembling in nervous shock at what they had just witnessed. None of them knew how accurately their foe could target this weaponry, or whether more of the deadly charges might be launched at any moment to obliterate this section of the wall as well.

"Sir, mebbe y' shouldn't be here, in case ... well, in case," a sergeant by the name of Choock said to Tardo.

"Just had t' see this," the shrew commander responded, gritting his teeth as he surveyed the destruction wrought upon his garrison; the sheared-off wall timbers, even in this dim light, were like spears in his heart. "How many'd we lose, Sergeant?"

"A score, twoscore - who can say? One moment those ramparts was there packed with shrews, an' th' next it was just gone, shrews an' all. Impossible t' say 'xactly how many died, Cap'n."

"Yah. Well, at least those rains we got earlier kept things nice 'n' damp, elsewise those fires could be spreadin' outta control right now. Still, we could use another shower right now t' put out what we do got. Any sign o' those outer wall fires catchin' the inner wall aflame?"

"Not along here, sir. Dunno about elsewhere 'round th' perimeter. Sumpthin' t' keep an eye on - hey, what's that?"

Shouting voices could be heard coming out of the glowing night from the southeast. One of the lookout shrews called over his shoulder to Tardo, "We got somebeasts headed this way, Cap'n!"

"Searats?"

"Can't tell yet."

"Well, what's that they're yellin'?" Tardo asked as he squeezed his way to the battlement's edge. Every ear pricked forward (as much as a shrew's ear could) and every eye searched the dim clearing and riverbank to attach an identity to the disembodied cries. As the charging beasts drew nearer, even the most bleary-eyed and fuzzy-sighted of the Northland shrews could see that these were no searats bearing down on them. But it was the words they shouted, coalescing into coherence as the distance diminished, that actually brought a smile to Tardo's face.

"_Guosssiiim_!"

"_Urthblood_!"

"_Mossflowwweeeerrr_!"

The shrew captain barked to his troops, "Hold yer shafts an' stones, lads! It's the Guosim! I dunno how they came t' be here now, but if ever I was glad t' see those wanderin' ragamuffins, now's th' time! We got reinforcements! Let's see if them brave beasts can't help pull our fat outta th' fire an' turn this battle around!"

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"Good work, rats!" Kothar commended his gunners as he studied the results of the third salvo through his long glass. "Perfect placement on those last two shots! We've taken out just about every vantage those shrews could've used t' cover our ship. There's nothing t' stop Globocka an' Snoga from waltzin' right in an' taking it now!" The spyrat swept his telescopic view upstream a short way along the far bank. "Ah! An' here they come!"

Here on the south side of the broadstream, Kothar and his fellow searats could not make out what Snoga's band was yelling, but even a half-deaf beast could have heard the commotion they were making as they charged. "Guess they ain't countin' on stealth, eh?" one of the artillery rats dryly remarked to Kothar.

"No ... an' that's not like Glebocka. I'm surprised he'd let Snoga talk him into something so reckless." Kothar examined the group on the opposite shore more closely. "Wait a ... those are all shrews! Where are Glebocka and his archer rats? They should be right at th' forefront of gettin' our ship back, but there' no sign of 'em!"

"Y' reckon that shrew Snoga's doublecrossed us?"

"Maybe. Too early to tell. Could be Glebocka decided his archers were needed more elsewhere. We can't see what's goin' on behind that fort on its other fronts. We'll just hafta keep watchin', an' see what our uncertain ally's up to, won't we?"

"Should we ready another volley, sir?"

"No, hold off on that. If Snoga really is getting our vessel back for us, we'll give him all th' space he needs. Be just our luck to have one of our next shots fall short an' slay some of the very beasts who might be on our side." Kothar refocused his attention through his spyglass. "Whatever Snoga's up to, it'll become clear in good time."

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Snoga knew exactly what he was up to.

Now that he'd shaken those bumbling archer rats Kothar had saddled him with, the True Guosim leader expected no trouble from those seavermin as he commandeered the steel ship for his own. And his ploy of having his team yell war cries that might be expected of Log-a-Log's Guosim also seemed to be working well; no projectiles been unleashed their way from the Northlanders' direction, and as they rounded the southeast corner of the crippled fortress Snoga almost imagined that he heard a welcoming cheer rising from the walltop there. Fools! He would like to see how heartily they'd cheer him when he sailed upriver in their precious stolen searat boat!

The only thing he would like to see even more than that was the look on Kothar's face when that searat realized he'd been cheated out of the prize he'd gone to such trouble to get!

Snoga drew to a halt at the head of the searat ship's gangplank. It was a somewhat sturdier construct than the one the rats themselves had been using the previous summer - no doubt Urthblood had had a new one fashioned for permanent placement - and would easily deliver the raiders to their target ... along with the five reserve kegs of stormpowder they bore. When Snoga returned to Castle Marl, he would have in his possession not one but two weapons that would make him the most powerful shrew in Mossflower!

The toppled outer wall lay under his footpaws, while the inner south wall - or what was left of it - towered behind him. But no enemy looked down upon him from those shattered ramparts. Somewhere in the dark woods across the water, Snoga knew, Kothar undoubtedly watched his shrew ally's every move. But a wide river lay between them, and Kothar had no boats at his disposal. Whatever Snoga did here, Kothar might see it but he would be powerless to do anything about it.

The only thing that might badly trip him up now would be a contingent of Urthblood's shrews lurking down inside the searat craft, lying in wait to pick off Snoga's fighters one by one as they descended the ladder into the ship. It would be just like that badger to station a squad inside the vessel, since he clearly prized it enough to have built an entire fort here to guard it. Snoga would just have to fool them the way he'd fooled the shrews up on the walltop. After all, these Northland idiots didn't know Snoga by sight, and they'd have no reason to suspect his group was anything other than friendly Guosim, if that's what they said they were. Then, once enough of Snoga's shrews were down in the vessel, they would take Urthblood's troops by surprise - catch them off guard and overwhelm them, slay them all and claim the craft for themselves.

"Kellom, take two shrews an' go see if anybeast's in that tub," Snoga ordered. "If there is, tell 'em ye're on Urthblood's side an' we've come t' help, 'til we can - "

"Stop, in the name of King Tratton!"

Every shrew on the riverbank turned its head to see Glebocka standing just upriver from them, arrow notched to his drawn bowstring. Snoga searched the night for the other searat archers, but to his surprise Glebocka appeared to be quite alone.

"Tratton, y' say?" Snoga repeated, feigning surprise. "We don't take orders from searats, or their servants! Slay that traitor!"

"Not so fast!" Glebocka countered, boldly stepping forward while holding his shooting pose. "I got this shaft aimed right at yer heart, Snoga! First paw I see reachin' fer sling or blade, an' ye're th' one who'll be doin' th' dyin'!"

This gave Snoga's subordinates pause. Kellom turned to his chief. "What should we do, Boss?"

Snoga wasn't sure himself. He toyed with the idea of ducking behind somebeast else - although his fellow shrews were already visibly edging away from him - or perhaps throwing himself onto his face, or even jumping into the water and leaving it to his minions to deal with this problem. He was swayed from doing any of these things by the fact that he had no idea just how good Glebocka was with bow and arrow. The rat seemed quite assured in his handling of the weapon, and if he was any kind of archerbeast worth his salt, he could have his shaft in Snoga's vitals before the shrew leader had taken half a step.

The other shrews picked up on their chieftain's indecisiveness, and grew increasingly uncertain themselves, a few even backing away from the riverbank toward the fort to make room for the advancing searat. Glebocka finally stopped a mere dozen paces from Snoga, a distance that could be covered by his deadly shaft in half an eyeblink. Snoga realized he'd allowed the enemy rat to get too close, but there was nothing he could do about it now, if there ever had been.

"Goin' somewhere wi' that spare stormpowder?" Glebocka sneered. "Like mebbe plannin' on takin' a voyage without yer new allies?"

"We was just about t' - "

But Snoga got no further with whatever placating lie he was about to feed Glebocka, for at that instant a watersoaked figure charged up the riverbank alongside the rat, steel flashing in the night. Hearing the rustle of wet fabric and the squelch of muddy pawsteps, and catching the movement out of the corner of his eye, Glebocka reflexively swung his drawn bow about to aim his arrow at this more immediate threat, but he was too late.

Snoga pitched himself flat onto his face against the fallen wall timbers even as Sergeant Fryc, moving with the practiced skill and fanatical courage of Urthblood's Northland fighters, lunged toward Glebocka. Before the rat could target the shrew blindsiding him, Fryc's dagger blade found its way up under Glebocka's ribcage and through the diaphragm. The stunned searat, arrow spent harmlessly in the ground alongside Fryc, fell back onto his tail, gasping his last breaths.

"That's fer all my mates y' slew t'night, ya stinkin' seascum!" Fryc growled, dealing the stricken Glebocka a savage slash across the throat. "Death to searats!"

Realizing he was still alive, Snoga climbed to his feet and stared at the unexpected tableau of Fryc standing a stone's throw away with Glebocka lying dead at his footpaws. A feral grin split Snoga's features. Drawing his searat trophy sword, he stalked forward as if to offer congratulations to his unlikely rescuer.

"Good timing, friend! I owe you fer that ... "

Fryc resheathed his knife. "If ye're here t' help us fight these murderous seavermin, we're in this t'gether, an' you don't owe me nothin' ... "

"Oh, but I insist!" Snoga said, and ran Fryc through with his blade.

The shrew sergeant folded to the ground alongside the sightlessly-staring Glebocka, clutching at the belly wound. "I don't ... unnerstan' ... he was a searat ... threat'nin' you ... "

Snoga wiped his blade clean on Fryc's shoulder. "Well, just 'cos I ain't on th' searats' side don't mean I'm on yers neither. Who d'ya think it was brought yer wall down, huh?"

Fryc stared up at Snoga, incapable of comprehending that any shrew could be part of such treachery, even given what he'd heard about Snoga's attack on Foxguard. If such comprehension ever came to him in his final moments, he never shared it with any living beast, for he simply lay back and closed his eyes for the last time.

Snoga turned to his comrades. "Okay, let's get a move on! That rat was clearly a spy o' Tratton's who'd infiltrated Kothar's woodland clan, an' there's no tellin' how many more of 'em there might be. Must be they want their iron boat back, so let's make sure we get to it 'fore they do!"

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Following these events through the searat periscope, Lorr saw the approach of the shrew strangers, who seemed to be wearing the distinctive headbands of the Guosim - it was hard to be sure in this low light. He could see the searat archer appear seemingly from nowhere, materializing out of the lambent night to threaten the newcomers with raised and drawn bow. And he witnessed Fryc's ambush and savage dispatchment of the searat menace.

Unfortunately, he did not stay at the eyepiece long enough to see Snoga slay Fryc. The bankvole wrongly concluded that he'd observed everything he needed to in order to assess the situation. These new shrews certainly looked like they could be his friends the Guosim ... and that rat had treated them as enemies ... and Fryc had slain the rat on their behalf. This could only mean that they were the adversaries of the beasts who'd attacked Doublegate this night, and had come to aid the besieged Northlanders.

At least, this seemed obvious to him.

Tearing himself away from the surveillance device, Lorr rushed over to the ladder and started climbing up toward the hatch even as Snoga was murdering Fryc. If those were friends out there, Lorr wanted to make sure they knew he was here.

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Kothar was confused.

He'd seen Snoga's band running toward the submarine unaccompanied, which had been fishy in the extreme. Glebocka's arrival on the scene with raised and ready bow only confirmed Kothar's suspicions that Snoga was trying to pull something. But after that, everything got muddled.

First, there had been that Northland shrew who'd blindsided Glebocka and savagely slain him. Okay, that by itself didn't mean anything; it could simply be that, in the heat of battle, Urthblood's fighter had unquestioningly come to the defense of his fellow shrews without taking full stock of the situation. But then, the way Snoga had slain Glebocka's killer as if in retaliation ... Kothar just couldn't figure it. Clearly Snoga had not gone over to the badger's side, if he would so unflinchingly murder one of Urthblood's soldiers. That still begged the question of just where Snoga's loyalties _did_ lie ...

All of Kothar's doubts and uncertainties were dispelled in one clarifying moment. Stepping onto the gangplank leading out to the searat ship, Snoga paused and stared across the river to where he knew Kothar's catapult crews lay concealed in darkness. Although there was no possible way that the renegade shrew chieftain could have made out the distant searats in their shadows-against-black forest recesses, even with the light from the wallfires setting the night faintly aglow, it seemed to the spyrat as if Snoga was staring directly into the lens of his long glass.

And the obscene paw gesture that Snoga gave his unseen watchers could be interpreted in only one way.

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Kellom was the first to reach the hatch, drawing up to the fake-treestump portal even as Lorr lifted the heavy steel lid to greet his supposed allies.

For a long moment the two beasts simply stood staring at each other. Kellom recognized Lorr as the crazy bankvole who'd roped them into wasting half a season building that ridiculous bridge, and wasn't sure what his presence here portended. Log-a-Log had taken Lorr under his wing, allowing the eccentric tinkerer to wander with them all that summer and fall and then winter at Redwall with them. Could this mean that some or all of the Guosim might be here? And if so, how would that complicate matters?

For his own part, Lorr did not immediately recognize Kellom as one of the renegade Guosim who'd defected to join Snoga's ranks. After all, there had been nearly two hundred members of Log-a-Log's wandering tribe even after those desertions, and the somewhat introverted bankvole was hardly on a first-name basis with all of them. Under these conditions, Lorr saw only that shrews who appeared to be his old friends (and who were clearly enemies of rats) had arrived on the scene. And since it never occurred to him that Snoga might be here in the middle of what was obviously a searat attack, he assumed the best about these newcomers. Of course, if he'd stopped to think about it, there really wasn't any reason why Log-a-Log and the Guosim would be here either, except that they were wanderers with a habit of showing up anywhere at any time.

"Oh, hullo, ahoy there!" Lorr waved a welcoming paw at Kellom and the other shrews coming up behind him. "Glad to see some friendly faces, yes I am, yes!"

Kellom played right along with Lorr's misapprehension. Snoga wanted down in this searat ship, and right now the bankvole stood in the way. "Ahoy there yerself, um, matey! We're th' Guosim, that we are, come t' lend a paw! Er, y' got anybeast else out 'ere with ya?"

Lorr shook his head. "No no, I was just out here working late when those explosions woke me up. I could be mistaken, but I think this vessel might be what those searats are really after!"

"Aye, you may be right," Kellom readily agreed, suppressing a snicker. "That's what we're out here fer, t' safeguard this tub an' make sure th' wrong creatures don't get their claws on it. Now, get on down that ladder an' make way fer us, matey!"

"Oh, um, yes, of course, yes, yes ... just give me a moment, just a moment ... " Lorr turned his attention to descending the steel ladder in good time so as not to keep his reinforcements waiting any longer than necessary. Stepping aside at the bottom of the ladder to give the others room, he watched as Kellom and two other shrews climbed down to stand with him on the interior decking. "I'm so glad you're here, yes indeed, yes! I was worried what would happen if the searats came here to take this vessel, yes I was. I mean, there was no way I could have stopped them from recapturing it, no way at all, and I very much doubt they would have left me alive."

Kellom quickly scanned the enclosed space for signs of any hidden ambushers. Finding none, he leaned against the ladder and called up through the open hatchway, "All clear!"

"Well, of course it's clear, nobeast here but me, I've already told you that, so why would you doubt me ... " Lorr's voice trailed off as a fourth shrew clambered down and turned to face the flabbergasted bankvole. "Snoga!"

"Ah, ya remember me, do ya? Lucky, me catchin' you out here. I'm claimin' this ship in th' name o' th' True Guosim ... an' ye're gonna show us how t' make 'er run!"


	25. Chapter 108

Chapter One Hundred and Eight

Captain Tardo pushed his way as close to the shattered south ramparts as he could without stepping out onto empty air. He knew he was exposing himself to further bombardments from their attackers across the river, but if he had allies out there in the night, he had to coordinate his efforts with them.

"Can anybeast see what's goin' on down there?" Tardo asked his fellow shrews. With the battlements directly overlooking the sub gone, there was no easy way to monitor events on the near riverbank.

"Looks like they slew a rat who was tailin' 'em, Cap'n. Think one or two of 'em might've gotten slain in th' scuffle themselves ... "

"Aye, that's what my eyes're tellin' me too. Fur, I wish we could get closer! Looks t' me like they're all gonna board that searat vessel. Now why'd they be doin' that?"

"Mebbe Lord Urthblood's out there somewhere," one enlisted shrew hoped aloud. "Mebbe this's just an advance party he sent in t' secure that boat ..."

"That's a possibility," Tardo conceded. "I counted only a score or two, and that'd be about right fer that job. Still don't explain why they didn't hail us directly, tho'. An' that's only a small part o' th' Guosim's total force. Where's th' rest of 'em?"

"Out in th' woods, fightin' our enemy? That'd explain why there've been no more attacks 'gainst our east, north and west - mebbe Log-a-Log's keepin' 'em too busy ... "

"Good an explanation as any, I reckon - "

"Cap'n!" came an excited shout from across the wide chasm where the south ramparts used to be. "Cap'n, th' west wall's caught fire in a couple o' places where th' burnin' logs've fallen 'gainst it!"

Tardo gnashed his fangs. They couldn't afford to lose both the inner and outer walls if any sizable enemy force waited without - that would spell the end of Doublegate. The problem was, their water supply inside the fort was limited to a few dozen barrels - an adequate drinking supply to see them through a modest siege, but woefully insufficient for large-scale firefighting purposes. Built on the banks of the broadstream as they were, water was never considered much of an issue; they had all they could ever need just outside their south gate. Except that now, their fortifications were in danger of burning to the ground, and the vast quantities of water beyond their shattered south walls might as well have been on the other side of Mossflower for all the good it would do them.

Unless these new arrivals could help out with this.

"Start rounding up buckets 'n' ropes!" Tardo bellowed to those around him. "Get 'em over to th' southwest walltop, close as y' can to th' river! We gotta make a bucket brigade - an' hope our Guosim friends down there can spare a few paws t' fill those pails fer us! Hail 'em, an' keep on hailin' 'til they answer! I'm gonna go see just how bad that wallfire is."

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"You want to do what?" Lorr said to Snoga.

"You heard me, vole! We're takin' this bucket o' bolts inland, upriver. An' ye're gonna show us how t' power an' steer this tub!"

"But, but, that's not possible, no, it's not! This broadstream gets shallower the farther up it you go. Its depth has been measured by both shrews and otters, at Urthblood's behest, yes, yes it has! This is about as far inland as this vessel can go on this river without scraping against the bottom! That's probably why the searats stopped here last summer ... "

Snoga whipped out his searat sword and pressed its tip to Lorr's belly. "Ye're lyin'!"

"N-n-no, I'm not! I swear it, I am not, no no no!"

The other shrews around Snoga - and by this time there were over a score, with more descending the ladder into the sub every moment - could clearly see that the terrified bankvole was telling the truth. Most of these shrews remembered Lorr from the summer before, and they knew he was no sly or crafty beast, and certainly no creature to whom deceit would come easily. Under these stressful circumstances, with cold steel pricking his stomach, the eccentric inventor could not possibly have possessed the presence of mind to try to mislead them.

"What're we gonna do now, Chief?" Kellom asked in a panic. "We can't sail back out toward th' sea - that's where all th' searats are, an' Urthblood too!"

"Now, wait, wait - that could still work," Snoga thought out loud, furiously turning over strategies in his mind. "Mebbe Kothar ain't figgered out yet that we planned on double-crossin' him. We could turn this craft around, take it down th' way it came in, an' make like we still mean t' give it to those seavermin ... "

"Huh? What?" Confusion swept across Kellom's face in waves. "We was plannin' on double-crossin' Kothar? An' I thought his tribe was woodland rats? Why're you callin' 'em seavermin?"

Snoga was suddenly thinking that perhaps he should have better laid the groundwork for his intended treachery by taking more of his own shrews into his confidence. However, before he could offer up any explanations - genuine or fabricated - Lorr spared him the trouble.

"That won't work either, I'm afraid, no it won't."

Snoga's attention snapped back to the innocent bystander he was threatening with bodily harm. "Oh? An' why's that, smarty-tail?"

"Because - " Lorr pointed past Snoga toward the rear of the vessel, " - the drive system has been disassembled for modifications. It's not in operating condition."

"Well, put it back together!" Snoga practically screamed at Lorr.

"B-b-but, that would take an entire work crew days!"

A shrew who'd gone to investigate Lorr's claim yelled forward, "Looks like 'ee's tellin' th' truth, Boss! Ev'rything back 'ere's in bits 'n' pieces - it's a right mess!"

"Yes, it's like I told you, yes, yes," Lorr stammered, seeking to placate Snoga with assurances that he was being as honest and cooperative as he could. "You may as well just turn around and leave, yes, because this vessel isn't going anywhere, no it's not, no indeed."

Snoga's eyes misted over as red as any Bloodwrath-gripped badger's, his entire body trembling with uncontrolled rage. He literally passed out on his footpaws, going blind and deaf to his surroundings. The only thing that existed for him in the universe during those moments was his inchoate fury, claiming the totality of his being. His blade slashed out, again and again, without him even being fully aware of it; his towering anger simply could not be contained in a body so small as his, and sought release almost of its own volition, beyond Snoga's conscious control.

When at last Snoga's awareness returned, he saw that all his fellow shrews had backed away from him - as much as they could within this confined space - and stood staring at him in stunned shock at his unreasoning outburst. Lorr knelt on the deck planking before him, a look of bewildered pain on his face as he clutched at the bloody gashes rending his waistcoast across chest and stomach. He'd obviously suffered horrendous wounds - perhaps mortal ones - at Snoga's paw during the shrew chieftain's uncontrolled fit. Snoga glanced down at the weapon he held in his unsteady paw; its tip was red with the hapless bankvole's blood.

"Well, guess _he_ won't be pilotin' us nowhere," a voice in the crowd was heard to observe.

Snoga's breath came in ragged gasps, heart hammering in his chest. Never before could he remember surrendering to such an all-consuming rage that left him disconnected from reality as if in a trance. It was scary, but also exhilarating, and the looks he received now from his shrews were worth the momentary loss of control. None would dare to question or oppose him after witnessing the fury he could unleash when sufficiently goaded. Now he knew how the badger warriors must feel when gripped by their legendary battle mania, and why they commanded the wary respect of the creatures who served them.

Snoga inwardly swore to himself then and there that he would never again fear another beast for the rest of his life.

"Wh ... what'll we do now, Chief?" Kellom asked tremulously.

An immediate course of action clicked in Snoga's brain. "If we can't have this fur-forsaken boat, then nobeast'll have it! Are any o' th' stormpowder kegs down 'ere yet?"

"Um, no, not yet ... "

"Well, get one down here, now!"

"Uh, aye, sir!"

Moments later, one of the explosive casks had been carefully passed from paw-to-paw down the ladder and positioned amidships. Snoga himself personally saw to the placement and readying of the fuse and the preparation of one of the lamps to light it. "Alright, ev'rybeast outta here!"

"Ye're gonna blow it up, Boss?" Kellom asked in disbelief.

"Damn right I am! There's searats all 'round, you saw it fer yerself! Hellsteeth, I wouldn't be surprised if Kothar's one himself, an' he tricked us inta doin' his dirty work fer 'im! Well, we ain't gonna let those seascum get their claws on this! Kothar wants it back so bad, he can swim to th' riverbottom t' get it!"

"What about him?" Kellom nodded toward Lorr, who lay stretched out on the floor planks groaning in misery.

"Aw, he's good as dead anyway. Least this way," Snoga added with a malicious grin, "he gets t' go out with a bang!"

"Um, okay. There's also lotsa Urthblood's shrews shoutin' down at us from th' fortress, tryin' t' get our attention. Sounds like they're askin' fer our help t' fight their fires. What should we tell 'em t' keep 'em from gettin' suspicious? They still think we're Guosim, y' know ... "

"Let 'em burn! We don't gotta tell 'em nothin', since we're gonna be clear outta here once this fuse's lit. Now, how're we doin' with gettin' this tub evacuated?"

When just Snoga, Kellom and one other shrew remained in the submarine, the false Log-a-Log said to the delirious Lorr, "Say hello to Dark Forest fer me, ya jabberin' loon! I know how ye're always pokin' 'round things 'n' askin' 'bout formulas 'n' wantin' t' see how things work. Well, now you'll get yer chance t' see th' searats' newest weapon in action fer yerself! A private demonstration jus' fer you! An' it'll be th' last thing y' ever see ... assumin' you live even that long."

As Kellom and the third shrew started up the ladder, Snoga held the open lamp to the keg's fuse, waiting until the flame caught with a sparking hiss before making for the ladder himself. He'd taken care that the fuse was a long one, whose slow burning would leave him plenty of time to exit the craft and get clear before it blew. Almost certainly the steel hull would contain much of the explosion's force, but Snoga honestly didn't know what to expect, and preferred to play it safe.

Reaching the ladder's top, Snoga vaulted over the tall hatch lip and slammed down the heavy steel lid with a loud, dull clang. Kellom tarried by his master's side, but all the other shrews in their company had retreated across the gangplank and stood waiting and watching on the nearby streambank. Waving his paws over his head for them to be on their way, Snoga sprinted across the crude bridge with Kellom hard on his heels, screaming, "Go go go!"

The Northland shrews up on the walltop didn't know what to make of these latest developments; not only were the Guosim below making no move to come to their aid or even acknowledge their hails, but now they appeared to be withdrawing from the docked submarine with all haste ... which made no sense whatsoever if, as Tardo had falsely surmised, their primary mission had been to secure the strange craft.

Across the river, meanwhile, Kothar was equally mystified by what he was witnessing. He still couldn't believe Snoga would be so insane as to make enemies of both Urthblood and Tratton; where in all the world did he think to hide with two such powers hunting him? But now, after half the shrews had descended into the underwater vessel, they all seemed to be coming back out again. Either Snoga wasn't planning a double-cross after all, or else he'd run into some complication that had forced him to abandon his scheme. Kothar really didn't care which was the case, as long as he could still recover the sub and deliver it to King Tratton at the end of all this.

Down in the vessel, Lorr lay watching the fuse slowly fizz its way toward a cataclysmic oblivion. It occurred to the wounded bankvole that he really ought to try to do something about this. Yes, his injuries were most assuredly life-threatening - but Captain Tardo's forces included several very capable healers. Perhaps they could save him, and perhaps not, but the point would be rendered quite moot if that keg exploded. Having thus established this line of reasoning in his beleaguered mind, Lorr poured every ounce of his remaining energy into dragging himself across the wood plank floor toward the stormpowder cask.

He left a liberally-bloodied streak across the floorboards in his wake, and he knew he was probably doing far more damage to his body by forcing himself into such activity when he was clearly in no state to be doing any such thing. But the strength of his logic spurred him on through his pain and his growing delirium. He'd settled upon a rational course of action, and was now committed to it. Beyond this, there was the matter of the submarine itself. Such a marvel, such a feat of engineering ... it was unthinkable to him that such a wonder should perish on the whim of malicious, wanton destruction. Even if he couldn't save himself, perhaps he could save the vessel around him. A beast could do far worse for a coffin. If he could just reach the fuse in time to yank it out before its sparking fires could spread to the main magazine ...

After what seemed an interminable effort, his failing strength ebbing a little more with each incremental forward drag, Lorr was at last within arm's reach of the powder keg. Summoning the last of his reserves, he levered himself up onto one elbow and extended a bloody paw to grab at the hissing fuse. A sense of triumph flooded through him as he grasped the slender cord, burned almost down to its terrible destination but still not there yet, and jerked it free.

Snap!

Lorr thumped down onto his stomach, staring at the broken, burned fuse in his paw. Broken! Snapped clean, but above the point where it burned still. This would not do ...

That thought still hung on the forefront of Lorr's fading concentration when his world turned to a thunder beyond thunder and a flash brighter than the sun ... but only for an instant. After that, there was no more pain, no more confusion, no more disappointment at how narrowly his goal had eluded him ... and no more Lorr.

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The explosion popped nearly every rivet and burst nearly every seam on the searat vessel. The hatch that Snoga had slammed shut mere moments before tipped up like the flap on a kettle spout pushed aside to let steam escape ... except in this case it was a veritable geyser of smoke and flame that erupted from the top of the underwater craft. Nobeast who witnessed that display could have any doubt as to what had happened.

Captain Tardo had just ascended to the west walltop of his fort to assess the fire damage there when the muffled _whump!_ of this latest incendiary episode reached his ears. He snapped his head around toward the south facade of Doublegate so quickly that he almost gave himself whiplash. "What, are we under attack again?"

But even as he spoke these words, he knew something was different this time. The newest explosion, loud as it was, possessed a more subdued quality to its roar, almost as if it had occurred at a far greater distance than the previous ones. Could one of the enemy's charges have misfired across the river, causing destruction to their own numbers? He could only pray the explanation would prove to be as encouraging as this hope.

The answer was relayed around the walltop to Tardo moments later. "Captain! Looks like them Guosim shrews jus' blew up th' searat ship!"

"What?" For several heartbeats, Tardo could only stand immobile on the ramparts. Thinking out loud, he muttered, "Well, that might almost make sense, if Lord Urthblood was afeared of them searats gettin' their claws on their ship, an' he ordered it destroyed t' make sure that didn't happen ... wait a minute! You said that craft was blown up? Jus' like our outer wall?"

"That's how th' lookouts down there reported it, Cap'n sir!"

Tardo ground his teeth. Could it be? He didn't want to believe it, but no other explanation made sense ... unless the shrews coming to their aid had somehow wrested control of some of this explosive compound away from the searats. But in that case, why not use it against the searats directly instead of destroying the captured vessel?

There was one way to determine the allegiance of these shrews. "Have they made any move t' help us with our bucket brigade?"

"Nay. Matter o' fact, they ignored our hails entirely, from what I heard, sir, even tho' they must've been able t' hear us. They ran back east along th' river right 'fore th' ship blew. Prob'ly almost back inta th' woods by now."

Tardo stepped forward and pounded his fisted paws against the top of the battlements, almost uncaring about whether he impaled them upon the sharpened timber ends. Only now did the tales of Snoga's treacherous attack on Foxguard fully resurface in his mind. Shrews who looked like Guosim, but were not Guosim ... were not, in fact, any manner of civilized creatures at all, and who had openly declared themselves as hostile to Lord Urthblood. There could be no other explanation for what had just happened outside their south wall. He couldn't begin to imagine how Snoga's gang had gotten their claws on some of Tratton's ultra-powerful weapon (for that was surely what had been employed against them this night), or the means to deliver it, but the identity of their attackers was no longer in any question. It simply had to be ...

"Shrews!" he sputtered, nearly choking on that unlikely word in his frustrated rage. "We've been attacked by shrews!"

And Tardo knew that, unless they dared to show their faces again, there was probably nothing he could do about it.

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To Kothar too, watching from across the river, it was abundantly clear the moment the flames erupted from the submarine what had happened. So stunned and shocked was the spyrat by this turn of events that he completely failed to notice another crisis unfolding much closer to paw.

Moments before the explosion, a guardrat had stepped up onto the rocky outcrop to check on Hanchett. The rat approached the captive with caution, respectful of the legendary abilities of the Long Patrol. Hanchett, having successfully severed his wrist bonds, sat tensed for action as the searat drew near, feigning immobility with paws behind his back so that his captor would assume he was still fully bound.

The blast caught them both by surprise, but the rat moreso than the hare, and Hanchett was quicker to recover. Even as the standing creature half-turned to look toward the submarine, Hanchett lashed out with his powerful legs, knocking the rat off his footpaws. He landed hard against the unyielding stone with an impact that momentarily winded him ... but that moment was all Hanchett needed to reposition himself and bring his bound heels down hard on the supine rat's windpipe. As the searat gurgled his last desperate breaths, Hanchett deftly relieved him of his dagger with a free paw and set to cutting his ankle bonds as well.

The dying flash of the sub's explosion revealed the hare's act of daring to the nearer catapult rats. A shout of alarm rang out, and within moments two of Kothar's archers notched arrows to their bowstrings and raised their weapons.

Sawing hard, Hanchett had his footpaws free almost at once. Springing to a low crouch, he flung the dagger in the general direction from which the warning cry had come, hitting one of the archers in the leg as much by luck as anything.

The other archer's arrow whizzed by Hanchett's ear as he jumped down the far side of the rocky prominence and sped off into the night forest, seeking to put as much distance between himself and the infernal seavermin as he could.

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"Sir! That hare's escapin'!"

Kothar's grip around the metal tube of his long glass was so tight that it threatened to dent the instrument. With the vision of the sub's violent destruction playing over and over again before the eye of his memory, Hanchett was the last thing on his mind. The prize he'd come so far and gone to such lengths to secure now vanished in a steaming death beneath the flowing waters off the opposite shore. The spyrat's rage at that moment nearly equalled anything Snoga had felt that night.

"Sir, th' hare! What should we do?"

But Kothar was not Snoga, in either temperament or sense of duty. If his primary objective had eluded him, there was still much he could accomplish here. When he came to stand before King Tratton, Kothar wanted to at least be able to report that a crippling blow had been dealt to Urthblood. Perhaps they would never recover their ship now, but neither would the badger have access to it, lest he contemplate using it against its makers. And his shrew fortress here could be rendered just a memory by morning.

Yes, Kothar decided, that was how he must define his victory here now. And that was what he would do.

"Deploy our archers in a defensive perimeter around the catapults, to keep that hare from returning," he issued with calm professionalism. "The rest of you artillery beasts, get to work with that stormpowder! Target the main fort back behind the walls! I want that fur-forsaken place reduced to toothpicks and ash by morning! Continuous salvos, until our ammunition runs out or the catapults break! I want those kegs launched one after another, quick as you can get those arms cocked back after each shot! No letup, no cease, no mercy! We'll show Urthblood's shrews what we can do ... and it'll be th' last thing most of 'em ever see!"

Kothar might have been denied the prize he'd coveted, and Snoga may have slipped into the night beyond his immediate reach, but by Hellsgates somebeast would be made to pay!


	26. Chapter 109

Chapter One Hundred and Nine

Snoga ran until his chest burned and his legs threatened to buckle under him, but he did not slack his pace until he and his band had safely gained the cover of the forest east of Doublegate. Only then did he allow himself the luxury of collapsing onto the damp earth, his breath coming in ragged, heaving gasps. His companions fell all around him, likewise winded from their hasty retreat. The four shrews bearing the remaining stormpowder casks brought up the rear, slowed by their burdens.

Why did so much of his life this past season seem to entail running from his enemies? It was not a position, Snoga was coming to learn, that he particularly favored.

Kellom checked the clearing behind them once every member of their company had reached the woods. "Don't look like anybeast's followin' us, Boss. Whadda we do now?"

"Well, things coulda gone better, but they coulda gone worse, too. Lots worse ... " Snoga patted one of the stormpowder kegs. "We didn't get all we came fer, but we got enuff - an' we're leavin' our enemies with a lot less'n they had! If this don't drive Urthblood's shrews outta our woods, at least it'll leave 'em a lot weaker than they were! We showed 'em who's boss tonight!"

Cheers and hurrahs of encouragement greeted these sentiments. Snoga's followers here might still be confused over what had gone on with the attempted hijacking of the searat sub, or who exactly Kothar was, but one thing they all understood was kicking Urthblood's shrews out of Mossflower, and on that issue they were very much united.

"Still an' all," he went on, "I dunno if we c'n trust them shrews not t' come spillin' outta there an' givin' chase, so I don't wanna pull back all our defenses at once. Kellom, make yer way around to th' main group on th' north side o' the fort, an' tell 'em t' hold their positions there fer awhile longer. That'll give us time t' get these casks back to th' boats an' make ready fer sailin'."

"Ain't we gonna fight 'em anymore t'night, Boss?"

Before Snoga could answer, two more thunderous explosions tore apart the relative calm of the predawn night, announcing a new round of violent bombardment from Kothar's catapult forces. From where they stood, the True Guosim shrews could see that this latest fusillade had targeted the main fort building itself, whose roof now bore two large, smoking holes. It seemed Kothar's heavy siege weapons had no trouble shooting clear over the stockade walls, even from across the river.

"Naw, we won't hafta, Kellom," Snoga said with a vicious grin. "Them rats'll do all th' fightin' for us!"

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Hanchett almost turned in his tracks at the resumption of the bombardment, tempted to race back to the catapults and disrupt their operation any way he could. While he held no great fondness in his heart for Captain Tardo's uncouth shrews, they were still goodbeasts, after a fashion, which was more than could be said for the searats attacking them. For all their bad manners and crudeness, most certainly they did not deserve the kind of horror they were being subjected to now.

And then there was the question of Lorr. That bankvole was as much a Redwaller as Hanchett himself, a friend to the Abbey and to their Guosim allies. It was Lorr, along with the few Toor otters stationed at Doublegate, who'd made Hanchett's brief stays at the shrew fort even marginally tolerable, and now those fine creatures were under the searats' batterment every bit as much as Urthblood's shrews. Hanchett fervently hoped they were all still okay, and would weather this storm through to its end, whatever that might be.

As another pair of concussions behind him lit up the night and filled the woods of lower Mossflower with their rat-wrought thunder, Hanchett began to doubt whether this battle would have a happy outcome for anybeast within Doublegate.

"That was jolly smart o' me, chuckin' away my only flippin' weapon, wot?" Hanchett chastised himself as he ran through the forest along the river's edge. "Even if it did scatter 'em enough t' let me make my bally getaway, it doesn't help me much now, does it? No question o' me goin' back there an' takin' on a whole regiment of searats - archers, bladebeasts an' all - with just my bare paws. Looks like our friends across the river'll hafta jolly well fend for themselves, sad t' say ... "

Hanchett's plan, such as it was, had been to go to ground at the first sign of pursuit, pick off one of the searats to get the villain's weapons (that, he _could_ do barepawed), and then see what havoc he could raise among them. And if they decided not to chase after him, well then he would just keep running, and see where he ended up.

He hadn't counted on Kothar resuming the bombardment with such ferocity. Hanchett knew the catapult gunners had only fired off a fraction of their ammunition so far, but it had seemed that they'd inflicted as much damage on the Northlanders' stronghold that they could; what was the point of further demolishing walls that had already been rendered all but useless? Unless they meant to target the inner fortress itself, but the only purpose in that would be wanton destruction. Then again, that would fit right in with everything Hanchett knew about searats.

The young scout hare certainly did not pretend to understand all he had witnessed this night. That the underwater searat vessel had been destroyed, Hanchett had no doubt ... except that Kothar had given him the distinct impression that he meant to recapture the craft back from Urthblood. Hanchett could see the outlaw shrew trying to claim it for his own, given Snoga's history, but destroying it outright? That simply made no sense.

Had Hanchett been more mechanically inclined or shown greater curiosity about the searat submarine when last he'd been inside it with Lorr, he might have surmised that the vehicle was not currently operable, and that Snoga had destroyed it out of pure spite upon discovering this fact. As it was, this possibility didn't occur to the hare.

Pure spite, however, was a trait Hanchett had no trouble associating with the renegade shrew leader. And while he didn't know the precise logistics of tonight's attack, he knew Snoga had played a big part in it - most likely, that first wave of explosions that had brought down most of the outer wall had been the shrew's work. That meant Snoga was over there somewhere on the north side of the broadstream ... and that Hanchett's hunt of the treacherous outlaw could resume once more.

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Captain Tardo felt his world was coming apart all around him ... and, in a very real sense, it was.

As the fifth and sixth stormpowder kegs smashed into the main barracks house, obliterating a chunk of the structure's southwest corner on the top floor and demolishing yet another patch of roof, it had become apparent that the purpose of this latest onslaught was nothing less than the total destruction of Doublegate itself. Already flames were beginning to catch in several places on the main lodge, with no plausible possibility of extinguishing those fires. If the clouds overhead continued to withhold further rain, then it seemed certain that the barracks would burn unchecked until morning, and perhaps well beyond.

But that didn't mean all was lost. As long as the inner wall remained intact, the Northland shrews still stood a good chance of holding off their enemy, at least until daylight enabled them to venture out onto the field of battle and take on their foe in a fair fight. Even now, dozens of Tardo's shrews labored frantically to remove weapons, food and drink, clothes and bedding, medical supplies, and anything else they might need from the barracks house before the fires engulfed the entire structure. They'd all lived without a roof over their heads before and knew they could do so again, but only if they had all the other essentials that a woodland army required. They were ready to concede the loss of their primary residence, but not to concede the fight itself.

To that end, Tardo still strove to quell the flames that threatened to burn through the west wall. Let the barracks burn, but their last line of defense must be saved at all costs.

Several rope lines had been tied around the battlement timbers and uncoiled over the side of the southwest wall, as close to the river as the shattered south ramparts would allow. If they could expect no help from the shrews outside who'd fled as soon as the searat ship was destroyed, then Tardo would put his own shrews beyond the wall to fetch water from the broadstream. Over a score of Urthblood's soldierbeasts slipped down the ropes and formed a bucket brigade from the banks to the foot of the the wall, putting into use every pail and pot that could be found on such short notice in the confusion of battle. The three Toor otters presently stationed at Doublegate took charge of hauling the loaded buckets up to the ramparts, where waiting shrew paws relayed them to quench the blazes. For an operation that had been slapped together so quickly under such unfavorable circumstances, it ran more smoothly than anybeast had any reason to expect.

Circumstances were about to grow even more unfavorable, however. While Tardo looked on in approval, daring to hope that they might after all stand some chance at beating back the fires threatening their last layer of fortifications, other eyes did not like what they were seeing ... and steps were being taken to put Urthblood's shrews on the defensive once more.

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"Now what do those shrews think they're doing?" Kothar mused in a dangerous tone, studying the new activity outside the southwest wall. "I do believe they mean to put out all our lovely little fires that we've gone to such trouble to start." Snapping his head over his shoulder, the spyrat spat out orders in a staccato clip. "Archers! Pull back from your perimeter and establish a shooting line here on the banks! I want those shrews stopped!"

"But, what about that hare ... ?"

"I don't give a seagull's arse about that hare! If he was gonna come back, he woulda by now! Besides, we took all his weapons, an' he threw Capric's dagger right back at us! He'd be a fool to harass us unarmed, an' right now I need you archers over here. So, get over here!"

Hearing the imperative edge in the intelligence officer's voice and realizing the peril in questioning his orders further, all six of the archers hurried to the water's edge alongside Kothar - even the one who'd taken Hanchett's thrown dagger in the thigh, which might produce a lingering limp but did little to impede his shooting ability - and lined up abreast of one another, taking the measure of the shrew bucket brigade across the river. Testing the wind, each plucked a shaft from his quiver, notched it to his bowstring, raised his weapon, pulled back, and released. Their six arrows took flight as one.

One shrew fell dead, while a second suffered only a minor wound.

Kothar snorted. "And I thought you archers were supposed to be _good_ ... "

"It's th' wind, sir," one hastened to explain, even as they all readied their second shots. "It's always trickier over water, 'specially water that's flowin' like this is. Plus it's a long way t' shoot, an' th' dark ain't helpin' neither ... "

"I want to see dead shrews, not hear excuses."

"Um, right, sir!"

Six more sharp twangs slapped against the night. This time three of the shafts found targets, and a second shrew was killed.

"Better, if only by a bit," Kothar appraised. "Keep it up. Don't stop shooting at them until I tell you otherwise, or until you run out of arrows."

The archers kept up the fusillade as ordered, even as the catapult crews continued their incendiary bombardment of the fortress itself. The shrews by the river showed no inclination to abandon their efforts, even after several more of their number were slain, and soon a macabre dynamic was established; for every shrew who fell to searat arrows, at least one more shinnied down the ropes from the ramparts to take its place. Clearly there was no shortage of willing volunteers, and soon the bucket brigade had more members than it had started with in spite of all the slain and injured defenders who lay off to the sides.

"What should we do?" the lead archer asked Kothar after at least a dozen shrews had been killed. "They ain't quittin'!"

"Mayhaps not," the spyrat said, "but we're slowin' 'em down. They got th' numbers t' spare, that's for sure, an' they seem quite willing to sacrifice as many of themselves as they must to get the job done. All I can say is, I'm mighty glad there's a river 'tween us, 'cos if this is how they fight fires, I can only imagine how they'd fight other beasts!"

"So, keep, shootin', sir?"

"Aye," Kothar decided with a nod. "If we can hamper their efforts just enough for those fires to really dig in an' get so their bucket line can't contain 'em, then the battle's ours."

One of the artillery rats leaned over to Kothar. "Y' want we should lob a keg or two their way? That big buildin's catchin' fire all over, an' I don't see how much more damage we can do that th' fires won't do all by themselves, given time. We'd surely disrupt their firefightin' efforts!"

Kothar glanced from the heavy wheeled weapons to the shrews across the broadstream. "Wouldn't you hafta reposition one catapult to line up a shot on' 'em?"

"We'd hafta do that anyway, sir, if y' wants us t' go after other parts o' that wall, off to th' sides ... "

"You think you can target accurately enough to hit 'em right in their midst?"

"Won't know 'til I try, sir."

"Then give it your best shot, an' do your worst!"

And so, as the hails of arrows continued to harry the shrew bucket brigade and the right catapult continued to hurl its destructive payloads at the rapidly-combusting-and-disintegrating main fort, the siege engine on the left was muscled and wrestled into a new position with a great creaking of wood beams and rope lashings, its tenders realigning it to target beasts who would least be expecting its destructive attentions.

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In many battles, a particular moment arrives when the tide turns decisively for one side and against the other, and the outcome is almost assured, even if some of the specific dramas within the overall tumult have yet to play out.

Captain Tardo knew something had changed when the explosions ravaging the barracks, which had been coming in dependable pairs, suddenly slacked off to isolated single blasts. He didn't know whether this boded ill or well. He could hope this signified that one of the enemy's siege engines had suffered some manner of malfunction, but the way things had gone for his side so far tonight, he wasn't counting on fortune's favor anytime soon.

He certainly had enough other things to occupy his attention. The searat archers across the river were exacting a heavy toll among the bucket brigade shrews, and Tardo was beginning to wonder whether the effort was worth the price in his troops' blood; it looked as if their attempts were barely holding the flames at bay. Elsewhere along the ramparts, several more shrews had lost their lives to flying slivers from the barracks explosions, sharp and deadly missiles created by the score with each new strike at the main building's roof and sides.

All around him, shrews were dying. Not in numbers they couldn't handle, or at a rate anywhere near what the destructive furies being unleashed against them would suggest, but just enough to rankle Tardo no end.

The turning point in this battle came with a miscalculation by the Northland shrews' enemies, and a rather serious one at that. Upon the south banks of the broadstream, the crew of the realigned catapult let fly their first shot aimed at disrupting Tardo's firefighting endeavor, but they had targeted too high, and the sparking cask sailed over the heads of the bucket-bearing shrews, causing not a single casualty among the Northlanders gathered near the river.

The damage it did cause was far worse than even the searats had intended.

The keg smashed into the walltop directly amidst the firefighting efforts. Two of the Toor otters were killed instantly while the third was seriously injured, robbing Tardo of his main muscle for hauling the water buckets up to the ramparts. The ropes themselves, singed and frayed, fell to the ground outside the wall, leaving no way for the newly-filled pails to be pulled up where they were needed, or for replacement shrews to descend to relieve the bucket brigade, which was still losing members to searat arrows. Worst of all, the blast's aftermath left tongues of yellow flame licking at the edges of this new hole in the battlements - flames that would spread, just as they were spreading all throughout Doublegate, with no practical way to extinguish them.

The shrew captain turned to regard the barracks house across the parade grounds from his position on the west walltop. The roof of the structure blazed in numerous places, and those fires inexorably crept downward to the lower floors. Soon the entire building would resemble the greatest bonfire Mossflower had ever seen ... and the way things were going, the stockade walls would not be far behind.

"Why couldn't we've built our fort of stone instead o' wood?" Tardo sighed with defeated exasperation, shoulders slumped in resignation.

A shrew hurried across the courtyard, giving the nascent inferno that was their former residence a wide berth, and yelled up at Tardo, "Cap'n, th' east wall's startin' t' catch too! We need some water over there!"

"Well, y' ain't gonna get it!" the commander yelled back. "That last burst just shut down our water-fetchin' operation! By th' time it'd take t' get it up 'n' runnin' again, it wouldn't do any good!"

"So, what should we do? Just let it burn?"

"Aye," Tardo bit off after a long and painful pause. "Let 'er burn. Lissen up, shrews! We're abandonin' Doublegate! This place's no good to us anymore, an' if we stay here tryin' t' hold out 'til th' last it'll only become our grave! Let's take this battle out to th' villains who did this to us, while there's still enuff o' us to make it a real fight!"

In spite of Tardo's rallying tone, no warrior's cheers met his pronouncement. This battle might not be over yet, but they'd lost the searat submarine and now Doublegate itself, and that alone was more of a defeat than any of them had ever dreamed they would suffer.

The battle had indeed turned, and most decisively. But the worst was yet to come.


	27. Chapter 110

Chapter One Hundred and Ten

The flames spread faster than Captain Tardo anticipated, heat feeding heat and drying out the rain-dampened wood with a slow and constant sizzling hiss that added its own sinister undercurrent to the louder crackle and roar of the insatiable licking orange spears. By the time his evacuation orders made it all the way around the walltop and his remaining forces stood mobilized inside the north gate, the barracks building blazed so brightly against the night that it almost seemed daybreak had come early to this part of Mossflower.

Out beyond the fortress walls, however, the woodlands encircling Doublegate remained as impenetrably dark as if the cloud-blanketed midnight still held sway. For the besieged shrews fleeing their doomed compound into the comparative blackness of the clearing beyond, it was a transition to which their eyes could not adjust at the same pace as their pawsteps. Indeed, the contrast verged on the bewildering, and the first few shrews out of the gate surged forward half-blind. Their slings twirled and they held their javelins high, but if any enemy waited out here to challenge them, the Northlanders would not have been able to see their foe.

Tardo had decided to send his troops straight north toward the shelter of the thick woods, away from the devastation being hurled at them from across the river. No attack had come their way from the east, north or west for some time now - unless one counted the sortie against the searat vessel, which had come from the east along the streambank - and the Northland shrew captain was beginning to suspect that his hostile counterparts might have withdrawn entirely to let their artillery corps to the south finish this battle. Based on everything he'd heard about Snoga, it would fit with the craven outlaw's preferred strategy to make a safe getaway while he could, and leave others to do the dirty work. In this case, Snoga might have been among the forces who demolished the outer wall and then made their escape while Tardo's soldiers were girding for a siege, or he might have placed himself safely beyond Tardo's reach among the heavy weapons with the wide river between him and Doublegate. Either way, the commander of Lord Urthblood's shrew contingent in Mossflower doubted their cowardly adversary would have stuck around long enough to tangle with four hundred enraged warriors charging out of their burning garrison and seeking vengeance.

Unfortunately for the vanguard of his shrews leading that charge, it had never occurred to Tardo that he might be only half-right in his assumptions.

The leading edge of the Northland shrews had made it several dozen long running paces into the clearing when ten of them were mown down by nearly-invisible feathered shafts loosed from the shadowy trees looming ahead of them. Rushing headlong from the brightness of their burning fort toward the dark of the woods put them at a distinct disadvantage; while their fire-dazzled eyes could discern only the dimmest of shapes before them, they presented boldly-backlit targets to their enemy shooting at them from a place of darkness. The Northlanders following on the heels of the forward elements didn't even realize their comrades were down until they stumbled over the bodies.

While the fourteen searat archers notched new arrows to their bowstrings, a score of True Guosim stepped forward from the trees in a hastily-arranged slinging line and let fly with a deadly barrage of hurled stones. The instant their slings were emptied, they faded back to allow a second rank of another score of shrews to launch their own lethal volley at the onrushing Northlanders. Then it was the searats' turn again.

Nearly thirty of Urthblood's shrews lay slain on this sudden field of slaughter even before any of Tratton's archers had loosed their second shafts ... and the massacre was only beginning.

Because the aggressors had waited to unleash this latest ambush until the Northland shrews were well away from the fort, the True Guosim and their searat allies could wreak havoc among the forward elements of their adversary without the worry of return fire from the walltop over the north gate, where a number of defenders still held the ramparts. What was more, Tardo's shrews had commenced their dash without waiting to form up into any kind of proper assault formation outside their walls, and only so many could fit through the gate at a time. Perhaps if they'd charged at Snoga's forces across a wide, deep front with every shrew they had, they might have been able to overwhelm their attackers before their own numbers had been thinned too drastically. But now they were committed to confronting the adversary in a long running column in which the forward shrews could be cut down before their compatriots several beasts back even knew what was happening .. and in which they could be laid low faster than they could gain ground on the enemy positions.

Only the lookout shrews above the entryway had a clear view of what was unfolding outside Doublegate, although even they were confused at first when the leading spearhead of their fleeing comrades began to fall and collapse in on itself. The cry went up from the front of the faltering column and from the walltop at almost the same moment.

"Attack! Attack! We're under attack!"

Captain Tardo had stayed behind inside his burning fort to make sure every able-bodied soldier made it out all right. Lieutenant Tewfick had headed the evacuees, but he was among the first to fall under the surprise ambush. Now, with no superior officer to reorganize them to meet this threat, some continued the charge, thinking they could reach the enemy before being dispatched, while others stopped where they were and tried to form a defensive line from which they could launch return sling volleys, confident that the others coming up behind them would bolster their ranks into a viable military front. This confidence may have been misplaced, for even as they deployed themselves in a sparse shooting line, many of their fellows turned tail and headed back to the temporary safety of their doomed stronghold to await further orders. And thus did the slaughter of Urthblood's shrews continue upon those killing fields, while Snoga's fighters lost not a shrew, rat or otter amongst them.

Kellom stalked to and fro behind the archers and slingers, looking on with approval. Snoga had suspected Urthblood's shrews might try some kind of massed assault through their north gate like this, and now that strategic foresight had been proven correct. And they had rushed straight toward the hidden ambushers, almost as if they'd known right where the True Guosim were concentrated. Perhaps that had just been coincidence, but if they'd meant to stage any sort of devastating counteroffensive, that plan was falling apart as rapidly as their corpses were piling up out in the clearing.

Kellom noticed that none of the otters had yet joined the fray, in spite of the fact that their superior strength and slinging range would make them perfectly suited to this engagement, allowing them to shoot over the heads of the shrews and rats and still hit Urthblood's troops. He stormed over to the burly waterbeasts to see what their problem was.

"Hey, what're you riverdogs waitin' fer? There's a battle goin' on out there, in case y' ain't've noticed! We need yer slings in our lines, an' we need 'em now! So get slingin'!"

"This ... this don't seem right," the spokesotter among them responded, waving a webbed paw in the direction of the clearing. "This ain't a true 'n' proper battle - 's more like a massacre. They ain't got a chance!"

"Not a chance?" Kellom blustered, trying to do his best imitation of his master. "There's hunnerds o' th' slimy li'l trespassers! Jus' let 'em regroup into a proper attack formation while ye're sittin' on yer rudders back 'ere, an' you'll be up t' yer necks in their shortswords quicker'n you c'n turn yer javelins their way! 'Sides, it ain't like ye're slayin' fellow otters - jus' think of 'em as liddle rats, an' treat 'em like y' would any vermin!"

This last exhortation brought more than one irate, over-the-shoulder glare from the searat archers holding the secondary shooting line at the clearing's edge a few paces away.

The senior otter - who was still a youngbeast by otter standards, since none who'd joined up with Snoga were older family beasts - contemplated telling Kellom that perhaps the shrews they were attacking viewed the True Guosim in the same light, but thought better of it.

"First y' grouse 'n' grumble 'bout us blowin' th' outer wall, an' now y' don't even wanna fling some honest slingstones at 'em!" Kellom growled in exasperation. "Well, wake up an' smell th' stormpowder, you soggy bottoms! You've cast yer lot with us, an' if those Northland shrews make it this far, they'll split yer belly soon as they'd slay any o' us! Ye're just another enemy to 'em! So, if'n y' don't wanna do any dyin' tonight, get yer planktails up here an' do yer part!"

This seemed to do the trick. With a chorus of resigned sighs and reluctance in their eyes, the otters loaded their slings and stepped forward to join the front lines. Before the night was over, their stones would add many Northland shrews to the dead. But they would not be happy about it.

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"Okay, that's enough."

The chief artillery officer for one of the catapults looked to Kothar. "But sir, we still got some stormpowder left ... "

"Start loading it back in the cart, and get those catapult arms tied down and ready for transport." Kothar glanced skyward; the heavens still held the dark of night, but he knew they would soon brighten with the approaching dawn. The paling of the sky might already have been noticeable, were it not for the persistent cloud layer that had thinned out as the night wore on but never dissipated entirely. "Let's see if we can pull back from this riverbank and be underway before daylight gives away our position here."

"Y' reckon we done 'em enuff damage?"

Kothar regarded Doublegate across the broadstream, not even bothering to use his long glass. The roof of the central building, where it hadn't been caved in or blown apart from the explosive impacts, burned from one end to the other, and judging by the brightness of the scene, those flames had spread all the way to the base of the structure. As for the inner wall, it too appeared to have caught fire in several spots, and the Northland shrews seemed to be taking no measures to combat the flames, since those of the bucket brigade had been recalled some time earlier and raced around to the north side of the burning fortress. Further bombardments would accomplish nothing that the flames wouldn't take care of just as well, given time to do their job.

"Yeah, I reckon we have. Pack it up, ev'ryrat! We're headin' home!"

One of the archers asked, "What about our mates across th' river with Snoga's crew? We just gonna leave 'em behind?"

"That turncoat Snoga may've had 'em all murdered for all we know. But they knew we aimed to withdraw from here before daybreak, an' one glance at that inferno will tell 'em our work with the catapults is done. If they live long enough to make it back to this side of the river, they'll be able t' figure out which way we went an' follow along. My only concern now is gettin' out of Mossflower an' back to the coast quick as we can." Kothar gazed across to the spot where the submarine lay totally submerged, flooded and ruined, beneath the flowing waters. "Since there's nothing else for us here ... "

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In the end, it was Tardo's deeply-ingrained warrior's training, along with the aggressive military enthusiasm shared by all of Urthblood's fighters, which almost proved his undoing.

The shrew captain's first reaction upon learning of this latest ambush was to race up to the walltop to evaluate the situation for himself. This proved to be of limited help, since the dark of the battlefield and the forest beyond - at least in contrast to the brilliant flames lighting up Doublegate all around him - prevented Tardo from telling exactly what was happening out there. He could make out that some of his troops farthest from the fort had fallen, while others ran back toward the gate and still others struggled to meet this ambush as best they could by forming into a ragtag offensive line to return fire.

Tardo's second reaction was to join this battle with everything he had. He still didn't know how many of the enemy there were or their exact positions, but this didn't matter to him at the moment. Unlike the sneak attack with the new searat weapon which had set his garrison ablaze, this would be real fighting: two adversaries facing off on an honest field of battle, or grappling through the woods from tree to tree using guerilla tactics. That was true warfare, in the language of steel and stone and blood that formed the tradition of soldiery going back more generations than anybeast could count. This was a language Tardo knew well, and when he saw his troops coming under fire in the clearing, his blood began to boil with battle fever, and he knew what he must do.

And so, without stopping to fully evaluate the situation or consider the consequences, Tardo gave the order to engage the enemy.

It turned out to be a disaster. Some from the original vanguard who'd come under fire were reluctant to reverse their retreat, while others were so eager to issue some payback for what had been done to them that they rushed out to lend their slings to their beleaguered companions without stopping to form up into any proper reinforcement block. Even Tardo himself gave little thought to such matters, convinced that their total numbers thrown against one point, combined with their superior training and battle experience and their fervid spirit, would prove enough to win the day.

Unfortunately, by the time the first of these reinforcements reached the front lines, there were no front lines left to reinforce; every one of their forward comrades lay slain by searat arrows and True Guosim and otter slingstones.

Some charged forward, intent upon carrying this battle - and vengeance - to the enemy, while others hung back to form a new slinging line along with the few skilled archer shrews Tardo had under his command. But the searat longbows and otter slingers possessed greater range than any weapons the Northlanders could bring to bear, and Kellom's shrews kept up a constant hail of missiles that laid low anybeast who ventured too close.

And thus the lopsided battle raged, Tardo's disorganized ranks paying an unholy toll in blood and lives while Snoga's forces displayed far more discipline and professionalism than they had any right to, perhaps realizing that to falter for even the slightest momentary lapse would mean their deaths. At the height of hostilities, Snoga's shrews were stepping forward in slinging lines twoscore wide at a time, launching merciless volleys that cut down their Northland foe by the dozen.

Captain Tardo struggled to reach the front lines through the packed bodies of his fighters, who were shouting "Urthblood!" and "Northlands!" and "Doublegate!" in their battle lust, but Sergeant Choock forcibly held him back.

"You don't wanna go up there, Cap'n! We're takin' terrible losses!"

"How bad is it?" he yelled back, since that was the only way to communicate in the midst of this raucous throng.

"Enemy's layin' down such thick fire, we can't get near 'em! Ain't just slingstones neither - there's archers too, who can shoot further'n anything we got! An' some o' their stones're comin' too far back in our ranks to've been launched by shrews. I think they must have otters standin' 'gainst us too!"

"Otters?" Tardo was flabbergasted. First Snoga's sneak attack using the new searat weapon, and now the possibility that otters might be among the forces arrayed against them ... Had the whole world gone topsy-turvy in one night?

He was about to question Choock further when an exceptionally far-flying stone - slung by an otter, naturally - found the sergeant's skull and Choock collapsed, stunned by the blow.

At last Tardo was left no choice but to call a retreat, pulling his surviving troops back inside the burning fortress ... but not before nearly two hundred of his shrews - roughly half his total forces - lay dead, unconscious or crippled upon the field of their defeat. It was impossible to know what kind of losses they'd inflicted upon their enemy, but to judge by the level of fire still being directed at the Northlanders, it seemed they must have suffered few if any casualties.

As the retreating shrews raced back toward Doublegate, the barracks house collapsed in on itself with an enormous splintering _foosh!_, sending a cascade of sparks high into the predawn sky. The thick odor of woodsmoke clogged every nostril, hanging heavy over the entire area. Tardo saw that the inner wall blazed out of control on both its east and west sides, and the heat from all these fires assaulted the sheltering shrews like a blast furnace. Their grand stronghold was literally burning to the ground around them.

"Dear fates," Tardo muttered to himself, "just let those walls hold 'til morning!"

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The True Guosim and the searat archers waited until the last of the Northland shrews had retreated into their flaming fortress and the massive gate was firmly shut behind them. Then, it was time to collect the spoils of war.

The otter slingers, already heartsick over the casualties they'd grudgingly inflicted upon Urthblood's forces, felt their stomachs turn at the sight of Snoga's shrews and Tratton's rats alike flooding onto the field to loot the dead. The archer rats seemed mainly interested in retrieving their spent arrows in case this battle was to have a second round, but the shrews had much more on their agenda. Many of Tardo's fallen fighters were merely stunned or incapacitated, and left to themselves might soon recover enough to give Snoga's forces further grief. And that would be unacceptable.

So the True Guosim swarmed over and among their fallen foe, slashing and hacking and stabbing at any body that exhibited the slightest signs of life. By the time there were finished, only around a dozen of Tardo's troops left on this field of slaughter would be lucky enough to survive past sunrise.

As Snoga's shrews embarked on this killing spree, they also claimed for themselves blades, slings, belts and other items that caught their fancy, even if some of them happened to be bloodstained. Like their rat cohorts they also gathered up any of their spent ammunition that they could find, just in case another bout of furious slinging lay ahead of them before this engagement was over.

A few of Snoga's fighters did lose their lives in this endeavor. Some of the downed Northland shrews they sought to dispatch did not accept death calmly, and fought to the last even though they might not have been able to walk or stand and knew they were doomed. Also, many of the dead and dying lay within slinging range of Doublegate's north battlements, and Tardo's soldiers were hardly content to stand by and watch their comrades being slain and pillaged without doing something about it.

"Ha! Got another one!"

Tardo glanced aside at the triumphant shrew standing a short way along the walltop from him. The grizzled warrior was already loading his sling and scanning the battlefield in search of another target. The shrew captain allowed himself a grim smile; the way this night had gone, they had to take whatever small triumphs they could, wherever they could find them.

He returned his gaze to the scene of carnage spread out below him and shook his head; the uncontrolled fires, casting their unrelenting heat up at his back, lit the clearing just well enough for him to see what was happening. "Rats and shrews, working together!" he muttered in disdain. "How could we have known t' expect anything like this?"

"At least they ain't hurlin' them thunderkegs at us from across th' river no more," Tardo's last surviving lieutenant said to him. "Gives hope that at least some o' us might make it through this alive ... " The officer's comments trailed off into choking gasps as another cloud of smoke drifted their way.

"At least it doesn't look like they got batterin' rams or siege towers or such," Tardo said when it was safe to talk again.

"Why would they? All they hafta do is wait fer this wall to burn through in a few spots, jus' like it's doin', an' they'll be able t' waltz right in!"

Tardo glanced skyward. It was hard to be sure through the drifting haze from the various fires, but he thought he could detect the first faint brightening through the cloud cover to herald the coming dawn.

"Once daylight's here, they'll lose a big part o' their advantage, favorin' sneak attacks an' ambushes like they do. Might put us on more of an equal footing than they'd care t' have, even with our losses out there. If we can just make it to dawn without bein' suffocated or havin' any o' these burnin' walls fallin' in on us an' crushin' us, things should turn around fer us."

"I sure hope so, Cap'n - they can't get no worse!"

Kellom's forces too had noticed the first glimmering of night's departure, and hastened to clear the battlefield as much for that reason as the sniping from Urthblood's shrews up on the ramparts. Once they had all pulled back into the still-murky woods, Kellom wasted no time in issuing new orders.

"Okay, Snoga said t' hold 'em if they tried t' swarm out at us through their north gate, an' that's what we did. Soon it'll be light enuff fer 'em t' try 'n' come in here after us, an' I wanna be long gone before that. The trees'll hide us fer awhile yet, long as we stay back from th' clearing. So let's get movin' 'round to th' east without givin' ourselves away, an' we c'n get back to th' logboats 'fore they even realize we ain't here anymore!"

The seniormost of the searat archers asked, "What about the underwater boat? How'll we know whether Kothar's had enuff time t' secure it?"

"Oh, that? Er, yeah, well ... " Kellom had not yet appraised his searat cohorts that nobeast would be taking the submarine anywhere. "Didn't get around t' mentioning it in all this confusion, but one o' yer chief's powderkegs fell short an' blasted that blasted contraption. It's lyin' on th' riverbed right now ... "

"What? That can't be!"

"Oh no? You ain't heard anymore o' them booms in quite some time, have you? That's why. They're prob'ly packin' up an' pullin' out even while we're standin' here flappin' our jaws ... which is what we oughta be doin' ourselves! All right, ev'rybeast - move out!"

The stunned searats had no choice but to fall into step along with all the other evacuating fighters. The otters joined the exodus as well; tempted as they were to simply fade back into the woods and desert Snoga's forces, they felt they had to put as much distance between themselves and the hornets' nest they'd stirred up as quickly as they could ... and that meant getting to the logboats and heading upriver with all haste.

For his own part, Kellom was quite proud of the explanation he'd produced for the rats' consumption. It wasn't even that much of a lie; the sub had, after all, been destroyed by a stormpowder keg, just not one launched from Kothar's catapults. If they were skeptical, they were welcome to go around to the south side of the shrew fort and see for themselves that the strange craft now lay completely beneath the surface, beyond all hope of retrieval. If anymore of them were searats in disguise, Kellom almost wished they would do just that; it would serve them right, seeing the prize they sought lying flooded and ruined beneath the flowing waters!

The withdrawing attackers circled back to the east side of the woods around Doublegate without incident, then struck out parallel to the river away from the Northlanders' garrison. Morning birdsong chirped and twittered in their ears and the pale ghost of dawn suffused the forest by the time they reached the grounded logboat fleet. There was no sign of pursuit, for which they all heaved a grateful sigh of relief, and no sign of Snoga either; clearly the True Guosim chieftain and his advance party had pushed off without waiting for his companions to arrive. Muddy furrows where several of the logboats had rested until very recently gave mute testimony to Snoga's hasty departure.

"Take us 'cross," the senior archer rat ordered Kellom. "We ain't goin' with you. We gotta get back t' Kothar 'n' the others."

"Yah, keep yer shirts on, we'll getcha across!" Kellom turned to the otters. "You riverdogs comin' too, or you got someplace else y' gotta be?"

"Uh, no. No, we'll be goin' all th' way back to th' big lake with you shrews. We'll be lookin' t' lay low 'til this all dies down, an' best we do our lowlyin' someplace far from here ... "

The shrew Gomon stepped out to the river's edge from under the trees and glanced back the way they'd come. The smoke rising from Doublegate's conflagration showed as a monstrous black column against the gradually brightening new day.

"After what we started last night," he said to Kellom and the otters, "somethin' tells me this ain't gonna be dyin' down anyime soon."


	28. Chapter 111

Chapter One Hundred and Eleven

The sound of those explosions at Doublegate could not be heard on the western coast, nor could their flashes be seen, even from the roof of Salamandastron. But Urthblood knew when the very first stormpowder keg detonated against the outer wall of his shrew fortress.

The troubled Badger Lord stopped what he was doing and climbed straightaway to the plateau of his mountain stronghold, startling the Gawtrybe who stood that night's crater rim lookout rotation. There he joined them for the remaining predawn hours, staring out obliquely to the southeast, away from the anchored searat ships which might have been expected to command his attention.

Every unseen, unheard blast from the distant battle impinged upon Urthblood's awareness, and with each shudder of the ethereal plane his consternation grew. Something monumental was happening somewhere in Mossflower, something his prophetic sight had not revealed to him until this very moment. In his otherworldly vision he saw flames and tumult and death, but it all tumbled together in a confused riot of imagery that he could not decipher. While the shape of the specific events remained unclear, Urthblood harbored no doubts as to what beasts were behind this upheaval of the inner lands' peace and order.

Concerned by his badger master's preoccupied demeanor, one of the sentry squirrels slipped downstairs to rouse Matowick. The bleary-eyed Gawtrybe captain stepped onto the plateau a short time later, pawing the sleep from his drooping lids and yawning as he joined Urthblood at the south crater wall. "Anything wrong, M'Lord?" he asked thickly.

The badger's gaze never wavered from the indefinite point, somewhere in the dark lower reaches of the mountain line, where the focus of his attention lay. "There has been a major incident tonight, Captain."

Matowick stiffened. He knew his underling would not have interrupted his slumbers without good reason, not these days when the ongoing negotiations with Tratton had them all a little on edge. The badger's choice of words now filled the squirrel commander with foreboding.

"A major incident?" Matowick echoed, confused by the direction Urthblood faced. "Is it ... searats?"

The larger creature nodded. "Yes ... but not searats alone."

This did little to clear up the archerbeast's confusion. "So, Tratton had treacherous aims all this time, and has just been playing us along?"

"The matter will have to be investigated further before we can say that with any certainty." Urthblood turned and started for the steps leading down into Salamandastron.

"Um, where are you going, My Lord?"

"To investigate the matter further, naturally."

Urthblood proceeded directly to the overhung aerie ledge where his avian officers made their home. Altidor and Klystra raised their heads upon his arrival; Saugus the owl had yet to return from his nightly reconnaissance patrol. The badger crossed the wide, covered balcony to stand before the falcon.

"Klystra, I need you to leave at first light and make a wide circle over Mossflower to look for anything out of the ordinary. If nothing unusual meets your gaze on a general overflight, then stop at Redwall, Foxguard and Doublegate to check on the status of each of those sites. Report back to me as quickly as you can - no later than noon."

Klystra stood and stretched, raising himself up onto the tips of his talons as he spread his formidable wingspan out to its full extension. One glance out at the coastal plains told him that dawn was imminent. "What to look for?"

"I am not sure. But I suspect you will know it when you see it."

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It was to have been the Redwallers' last morning at Foxguard before returning to the Abbey.

At first the lookouts up on the tower's observation deck didn't know what to make of the events unfolding to the south. The booms reached their ears as only the faintest of echoes, less distinct than even the most distant rumbles of thunder. And as for the flashes from the explosions that were tearing Doublegate apart, the elevated sentries fancied that they saw _something_ from that direction, but the bursts showed so dimly against the night that the two foxes had to verify with each other that they were seeing anything at all.

"Looks like they're having a bit of a storm down in lower Mossflower ... "

"You can see it too? Thought I might've been imagining things ... Doesn't really look or sound like any thunderstorm I've ever seen before."

"Well, when'd you ever watch a storm from this high up before?"

"True. I wouldn't want to be up here in any kind of wicked weather ... although that storm to the south almost looks like it'd pass below us if it came up this way. Assuming it is a storm ... "

"What else could it be? You're hearing the rumbles and seeing the lightning same as I am, right? It's been drizzling and raining up here all night, with clouds so thick there's no sign of moon or stars. Only makes sense that some parts of the lands might be getting heavier weather than we are. But I'll agree with you about one thing: staying up on this oversized lightning rod in a bad storm wouldn't be any picnic!"

The two junior swordsbeasts could be forgiven their false conclusion. As one had pointed out to the other, when had either of them ever observed a distant storm from such a vantage as this? The conditions did indeed seem perfect for thunder and lightning to be afflicting some part of Mossflower tonight, and that same drizzle and mist and fog muted the explosions ravaging the shrew fortress, giving the fox lookouts a rather obscured view of the battle. On top of it all, none of Urthblood's swordfoxes had ever seen the stormpowder in use, and thus had no basis for comparison in their realm of firstpaw experience. They'd all heard Klystra's account of that winter and spring's coastland conflicts between Urthblood and Tratton, but who among them would have imagined that these terrible new searat weapons would be unleashed against any target so far inland? Especially on a night such as this? No, a localized thunderstorm made more sense, particularly when the distant rumbles and dim flashes kept up intermittently most of the way until morning.

Not being any kind of expert weatherbeasts, the two foxes never stopped to wonder why the storm persisted only over one point on the south horizon. Nor did the very slight brightening of that region - almost as if some impossibly huge bonfire had been lit there - strike them as anything worthy of undue alarm.

All of that changed with dawn's first light. The light rain slacked off with morning's approach - while the disturbance to the south continued unabated - and the cloud cover overhead gradually thinned until the fuzzy moon and a few of the brightest stars showed through the wispy remnants of the overcast. Long before the first glimpse of the rising sun could be had even from the extreme heights of the watchtower, the gray kiss of the new day provided sufficient contrast between the silvering skies and the shadowed lands to reveal the massive smoke column rising from the ruins of Doublegate.

The two foxes almost ran over each other in their haste to ring the alarm bells.

Just as the lookouts on the observation deck could be alerted by a bell when somebeast down below wished to be winched up in the lift, so a reverse system of pullropes allowed the isolated sentries to raise an alarm if they spotted something they deemed important enough to justify summoning Tolar. Trying to shout all the way down to ground level from this height would of course be an exercise in futility, and not even a large bell located up on the tower's apex would be easily heard by those down in the main fortress. Thus, a separate bell was located outside the base of the elevator shaft, which could be rung by the towertop sentries using the same taut ropes that enabled a creature below to request a ride up. It was a primitive and limited means of communication over such a large vertical distance, and now it would receive its first test.

_Clang! Clang! Clang!_

The mole snoozing in his chair at the bottom of the tower staircase jerked to attention at the urgent triple tolling. Any thought in his sleep-clouded mind that he might have been dreaming was dispelled by a second series of three rings: the emergency signal. He rose from his chair to rouse Tolar, but was stopped in his tracks by a third set of clangs. Now, what was the procedure for cases like this again? Oh, yes ... The mole tottered over to the bellropes and gave two sharp pulls of his own, followed by another two. This would let the foxes up above know that their signal had been received, and that the proper beasts were being notified.

Tolar was already out of his bedding, washing and dressing for the new day, when the mole appeared at the door to his room. The fox Sword listened to the brief report, then hastened to the rooms of his Redwall guests.

Alex and Mina cracked their eyes and sat up on their bed mats at Tolar's knock, having been stirred from deep slumbers by the noises in the hall. "Come on in," Alex said sleepily, expecting it to be one of his fellow Redwallers, or one of the Northlanders checking on their needs. The two squirrels were most surprised to see the swordfox chieftain step into the room.

"My Lady, we may have a situation. Would you please come with me? Alex, would you be so kind as to fetch Colonel Clewiston and meet me and Mina down at the tower lift?"

In very short order all four of them stood gathered around the elevator platform. On their way downstairs Alex and the Colonel had passed many of the other swordfoxes, and their purposeful hurry made it clear that they were mobilizing for defensive reasons. "What is it, Tolar?" Alex asked. "Another attack?"

"I'm not sure." Tolar thrust forward a wrinkled sheet of parchment. "My lookouts up there had the presence of mind to scrawl this message, roll it into a ball and toss it down here."

Alex took the rumpled sheet, while Clewiston read it over his shoulder. There, scratched out in thick charcoal, were the words:

HUGE FIRE IN LOWER MOSSFLOWER

"How big?" Alex wondered.

"An' how blinkin' close to us ... an' Redwall?" added the Colonel.

"We won't find out until we get up there," said Tolar. "At least it appears that we're not under any immediate threat, although I've recalled the wall construction crews and put everybeast on high alert, just to be safe. My foxes wouldn't have sounded the alarm if they didn't think the situation called for me to join them up there. I thought you would want to accompany me, since you are three of Redwall's chief defenders, and this may concern you as well." He stepped up onto the lift, beckoning for them to follow. "Shall we?"

Once they were all centered upon the platform, the watchmole hauled on the bellrope to signal the foxes above to winch up the elevator. They didn't have to wait long before the mechanism began bearing them upward. It seemed to Clewiston that this ascent was noticeably more rapid than on his previous visit to the observation deck.

"They sure aren't wasting any time, wot?" the hare observed.

"They know this isn't a situation that calls for doing things leisurely." Tolar reached up and commenced the periodic ringing of the lift bell.

"Will there be anybeast to put the safety crossbeams in position this early?" inquired Alexander.

Tolar nodded. "They're on duty day and night, since we never know when we might need to go up on short notice. It diverts beastpower from the construction of the outer wall, it's true, but I would rather be prepared for circumstances such as this."

"I wonder what kind of fire it is?" Mina mused. "It smells to me like we had rain during the night. You wouldn't think any kind of large fire could take under such conditions."

"I do believe you're right about the rain, M'Lady." Tolar shrugged. "It could be that the wetness was very localized, and much of southern Mossflower remained dry. We'll know more when we reach the top."

A tense silence settled over the four of them for the remainder of their ascent. While Tolar diligently occupied himself with the evenly-spaced ringings of his bell to alert the safety crews of their approach, he clearly was filled with anxiety and impatience, and the others suspected he would just as soon have bypassed the elevator altogether and bolted up the endless staircase under his own power. But naturally he would want to conserve his strength in case some crisis did indeed lie before him this day. Running all the way to the top of Foxguard's tower might get Tolar there faster, but he wouldn't be in any shape to serve as a commander after such a workout - at least not without a long rest to rejuvenate himself.

At last the featureless curving walls of the upper shaft gave way to the open chamber of the observation deck. The four passengers stepped off the wood platform onto the more solid stone floor while the two lookouts at the crank stood back from the handles, shaking and flexing their paws. "We could sure use some gloves for that thing, sir," said one. "Getting all of you up here so fast raised blisters on every one of my pads!"

"It is work better suited to otters," Tolar admitted, "but you happened to be the ones up here for this emergency."

"You got the note we threw down, sir?"

"Yes. How bad does it look?"

The fox lookout motioned toward the doorway leading out to the observation balcony. "Best if you just see for yourself, sir."

"Of course." Tolar led the hare and squirrels out into the high morning air. The sight that greeted them was much the same as that which had spurred the two watchers to alert Tolar in the first place. If anything, the dark pillar stood out even more prominently now that the morning had brightened. While the newly-risen sun flooded its golden rays over the forestlands to the east and lit the upper reaches of the watchtower with a clean rosy glow, Mossflower to the south was dominated by the twisting smoke column that drew a line upon green woods and blue sky, splitting the world in two.

"By my blade!" gasped Tolar.

"Great fur and acorns!" muttered Alex.

"Bally bloomin' blinkin' blazes!" grunted Clewiston.

Mina looked to the swordfox chieftain. "Do you think it's Doublegate?"

"Don't know what else it could be ... " Tolar raised his long glass to his eye and peered through it toward the scene of destruction, fiddling with the optical instrument to bring it into focus. Doublegate lay far enough to the south that the fortress itself had never been visible from Foxguard, but Tolar knew roughly where it must be located amidst the green expanses of lower Mossflower that extended nearly to the southern horizon. To the best of the swordfox's knowledge, the base of that monumental burning matched where the shrew stronghold must have stood.

"It can't be an ordinary forest fire," Tolar said. "It's too tightly confined to one spot for that. And yet there must be a tremendous amount of wood burning for us to be able to see it so clearly from here. It simply has to be Doublegate, much as I hate to say it."

"Do you think they were attacked?" asked Alex.

"I think that's what it would have to be," replied Tolar. "Lord Urthblood's shrews would never just stand by and let an accidental fire grow to consume their entire garrison. And my bet's on Snoga being behind this. I can't think of anybeast else in that part of Mossflower who would dare to move against Lord Urthblood's forces so boldly ... and we know that villain is dastardly enough to use fire as a weapon. He's shown that he prefers sneak attacks and ambushes over honest combat, so this would fit with his way of operating."

One of the lookout foxes spoke up then. "Uh, sir? It may've been more than just fire ... " He proceeded to describe to Tolar and the Redwallers the distant "thunderstorm" he and his shiftmate had witnessed during the predawn hours.

Mina glanced sharply at Tolar. "That sounds more like Tratton's new weapon." It was as much a question as a statement.

"But that doesn't make any sense!" Tolar protested. "What would searats be doing so far inland?"

"What would Snoga's gang be doing with searat weapons?" Mina countered.

"We know the searats made it that far inland at least once before," Alex said in support of Mina, "since that's where their underwater craft was found last summer. Maybe they snuck up to Doublegate in another ship just like that first one."

"If Tratton found out Lord Urthblood had captured that vessel and was holding it at Doublegate, it's entirely possible that he might send an expedition there to try to reclaim it," said Mina. "And after the losses his fleet suffered these past two seasons, he might have chosen that time and place to stage a major strike against us."

Tolar chewed on his lower lip as he considered this. At length he said, "Then we had better let Lord Urthblood know about this."

00000000000

Klystra didn't have to fly very far or search very hard to find what he was looking for.

No sooner had the falcon officer cleared the mountain range and turned his piercing vision to a general survey of Mossflower than he spotted the impossible-to-miss smoke column rising from the south, where he knew Doublegate to be. The dark, twisting pillar arose too far inland and south to have been visible from Salamandastron, but riding these upper thermals farther above the ground than even the summit of Foxguard, this signal of calamity could not be overlooked. Surely this must be what Lord Urthblood had dispatched him to investigate. Dipping his right wing lower, Klystra turned his flight path toward the forbidding beacon.

It became clear as he approached the ruined and burning fortress that Doublegate must be a total loss. From the amount of flame and smoke being put up by the conflagration, the bird captain could not imagine how any of Tardo's shrews might have survived such a disaster. The vast quantity of shrew bodies strewn across the clearing outside the garrison's north gates seemed to support this view, although they looked to have been slain in battle, not by burning or suffocation. Klystra couldn't begin to imagine what had possibly happened here, and his confusion only deepened when his circling survey carried him over the river along the south side of the fort and he saw that the searat submarine now rested entirely below the waters, sunk and useless.

Klystra spiraled in closer - as close as he dared, for he did not wish to become embroiled in the rising smoke, whose soot would clog his plumage and hinder flight - and saw that his original pessimistic prognosis was thankfully incorrect. A good two hundred shrews stood or sat in the courtyard between the collapsed barracks house and the crumbling outer fortifications. A few even stood upon the ramparts above the gate, which looked to be the only remaining intact section of the inner wall. How they were managing to stay there without choking or being overcome by woodsmoke Klystra couldn't fathom, but then those Northland shrews always had been a tough lot.

Giving a repeated series of cries to alert the shrews below to his presence, Klystra glided low over the parade grounds and settled to a landing just outside the gates.

It didn't take long for those gates to open and for Captain Tardo to emerge along with a small contingent of his fellow shrews, racing out to trade reports with their falcon comrade-in-arms. They glanced about them anxiously as they went, clearly on the lookout for the beasts who'd done this to them.

Tardo stopped before the much larger bird. "Lord Urthblood sent you?"

Klystra gave an emphatic nod. "Sensed something wrong, didn't know where, so sent me from Salamandastron to investigate. What happened?"

"It was Snoga's gang," Tardo growled. "At least, they were shrews, so I figger it hadta be Snoga. But they wasn't workin' alone - they had rats with 'em too."

"Rats?"

"Aye. Searats is my guess, judgin' by that explosive stuff they used t' blast our walls, demolish our barracks an' sink that iron boat."

"Searats?" Klystra was still having trouble absorbing this. "Snoga made alliance with Tratton?"

"Sure looks that way. Some o' my shrews swear th' force that ambushed us must've had some otter slingers with 'em too. I never saw any waterdogs flingin' rocks at us, but those rats I did get a good eyeful of. Rat's 'n' shrews workin' t'gether, no doubt about it."

"You all right?" Klystra could see from Tardo's red-rimmed eyes, sooty and disheveled fur and slumped stance that he'd been through Hellsgates this night just passed, and wondered whether the shrew captain would even be able to keep on his feet for the duration of this conversation.

"All right?" Tardo barked in a raspy, mirthless laugh. "Lessee, my command's been destroyed, the ship I was charged with protectin' got all its gaskets blown, more'n half my troops've been slaughtered, an' th' rest of us have breathed in so much smoke there's no tellin' which of us might not make it through 'til nightfall. Yeah, I'm just peachy!"

Klystra merely stared at Tardo in that silent and stoic way that only birds of prey can, letting the shrew's exasperated outburst pass without comment.

"Right. Sorry. Been a long night. It'd be a big help t' us if'n we knew it was safe fer us t' come out here where we could get away from all that smoke - th' worst of it, anyways. Didja happen t' see any sign of their positions on yer way down here?"

"Tree cover hides all beyond clearing." Klystra nodded toward the distant tree line that surrounded Doublegate on three sides. "Could not see anybeast beneath them."

"Great. Now we don't have a clue whether this wood's still swarmin' with that verminous scum or if they've hightailed it outta here. They was even in th' forest 'cross th' river, lobbin' those thunderkegs at us. Guess they musta brought in some catapults, jus' like they hit us with along th' shore last winter. That's what took apart our barracks. An' here I thought takin' this assignment would spare me ever havin' t' be subjected to a poundin' like that again!"

"Catapults? So far inland?" Klystra questioned.

"Well, if they weren't catapults, they were th' next worst thing. They were able t' strike our barracks roof from clear on th' south streambank. Never got a look at 'em m'self - we was all too busy dodgin' them blasts an' flyin' wreckage."

"Never heard of catapult in woods. How they get so close, and you not know?"

Tardo scowled at the raptor. "So, when can we expect reinforcements?"

"Must report all this back to Lord Urthblood, then he will decide what to do. But first, I will scout area again, see if enemies near. Also, look for Snoga. I let outlaw shrews escape me once, now has come to this." Klystra nodded toward the nearly-destroyed garrison. "Must not allow Snoga to escape second time."

00000000000

The searat archers stepped off the logboats onto the south banks of the broadstream and set out through the murky morning woods to rejoin Kothar, never once realizing that they passed within a few paces of the hare who was hunting them.

Hanchett had chosen his hiding place well. After putting what he judged to be safe distance between himself and the catapult rats, the Long Patrol hare had gone to ground within a stone's throw from the river, ensconced deeply enough into the underbrush that only a highly skilled trackerbeast might have any hope of uncovering him. The distant concussions of Kothar's bombardment continued for some time after that, but eventually slacked off to silence. Tucked away in the recesses of the damp predawn forest as he was, Hanchett could no longer spy the light from Doublegate's burning, and so in that dark solitude he hunkered, waiting to see what the imminent day would bring.

Shortly before the welcoming ghostlight of dawn began to suffuse the trees, with the woodlands lying in mute shock from the blow they had received this night, the sound of boating activity reached Hanchett's ears. By the time he stirred himself from his overgrown nook and crept down to the water's edge to investigate, Snoga's vanguard of retreaters had already faded into the gloom upriver on their way back to the big inland lake. With a shrug, Hanchett returned to his makeshift blind. Hares were not suited to nocturnal activity - indeed, he'd stubbed both footpaws and badly bruised his shin during his flight through the forest to escape the searats - and he was resigned to wait until daybreak to resume his hunt.

It just so happened that Hanchett had settled down almost directly across the river from where the True Guosim had stashed their logboat fleet for safekeeping during their attack on Doublegate. Now, with the misty gray daylight beginning to assert itself and the dread stillness finally being broken by the trilling, whistling birdsong to greet the new morning, Hanchett's preparations to get underway were interrupted by a much larger commotion from the opposite banks than before. Slinking down to the riverside so that he wouldn't miss the action this time, he saw dozens of logboats being hauled out of the woods by over a hundred shrews, along with a few rats and otters among them.

"So, Snoga's makin' his getaway, wot?" Hanchett muttered to himself. "He never changes, does he? Make a big mess o' things, slay an' hurt a whole lotta innocent beasts, then sneak away 'fore he's made t' face the bally music! Hmm ... can't quite pick him outta that unruly mishmash, but he's sure to be around somewhere. Coward like that wouldn't dare go about without lots of his bullies t' back him up, 'specially after wot he just pulled. Let's see where this gang of murderers is headed ... "

Hanchett was mildly surprised when the boats bearing the rats made straight across the broadstream toward him. He'd pulled back far enough so that he would be able to shadow the flotilla without being seen once they got underway, but now he was forced to stage a full-scale retreat back into his former shelter, going to ground once more even as the searats set foot on the banks a short distance away.

He monitored their every move as they trooped past him, striking out to the west, back along the path of the river toward the catapult positions. Clearly they sought to rendezvous with their fellow rats. Equally clearly, the shrews and otters had no intention of accompanying them, for even as the seavermin disappeared amongst the trees, the logboats pointed their prows upstream and their crews bent their backs to their oars to propel them against the currents. Whatever alliance had existed between Snoga and the searats, those arrangements now seemed to be at an end.

There was no question in Hanchett's mind which way he would go. The searats might still be looking for him, but even if they weren't, they would certainly be on the alert for his possible return. He was unarmed, whereas they were battle-hardened soldier rats. But more than any of this, he had no personal quarrel with Tratton's force, in spite of the way they'd treated him and their part in the attack on Doublegate. That was between Urthblood and the Searat King. Snoga, on the other paw ...

The last time Hanchett had clamped eyes on the outlaw shrew leader on these waters, Snoga had been aboard a lone logboat borne so swiftly upon these currents that he was gone before anybeast - even his long-legged hare pursuer - could come close to catching up with him. This force before Hanchett now was far too large to pull such a disappearing act, and their upstream course would slow their progress enough so that the hare would have no trouble keeping up with them as he shadowed their fleet from the shore. His biggest challenge would be staying hidden himself while never letting his quarry out of his sight, but Hanchett felt confident that he was up to the task. He was a hare of the Long Patrol, after all.

Waiting just long enough to make sure the searat archers were safely gone, Hanchett broke from his cover and went into a jog, keeping one eye on the woods in front of him and the other on the logboats visible between the passing trees.

The hunt was on again.


	29. Chapter 112

Chapter One Hundred and Twelve

The signaling mechanism atop Foxguard's watchtower consisted of both lenses and mirrors, to capture the sunlight at any time of day and focus it into a concentrated glare brilliant enough to reach all the way to Salamandastron. On cloudy days or at night, a large bonfire could be lit on the tower roof and reflected off a backing mirror so that the lines of communication would remain open in all but the most severe weather.

Thus it was that Tolar's message that morning was sent and received long before the first probing rays of the rising sun touched Salamandastron, the coastal plains or even the inner lands beyond the mountains. Towering so high over Mossflower, the summit of Foxguard caught the first glimmers of sunlight well ahead of the countryside surrounding it. That early sunfire was now captured and redirected westward, across Mossflower and the Western Plains and over the mountain range, all the way to the flat-topped peak of the Badger Lord's natural fortress.

Urthblood resumed his taciturn vigil on the plateau as soon as he'd delivered his orders to Klystra. He gave no sign to the Gawtrybe squirrels that he meant to budge even after the falcon departed at dawn's first light and the coastlands gradually brightened around them. He appeared determined to remain here until the bird scout returned.

Matowick, in spite of his interrupted sleep, could not think of leaving this scene now. "Um, M'Lord, full morn will soon be upon us. Hadn't you better get ready to go down and receive Viceroy Korba?"

"My negotiations with Tratton are no longer my immediate priority. Not until I know what has happened in Mossflower."

"Do you have any clearer inkling now, other than - hey, what's that?"

Urthblood's gaze stabbed from the southwest to due east. The glimmering sparkle, winking in a clear and distinct pattern from over the mountain range, was unmistakable. The badger unsnapped his own personal long glass from his torso armor, unfolded it with practiced single-pawed dexterity, and raised it to his eye. "It seems Tolar has something to say to us. Perhaps this will give us our answer ... or at least part of it."

For many long moments nobeast on the mountaintop dared speak, as Urthblood studied and mentally deciphered the message. No actual alphabet had yet been devised for this new language of flashes, so only the most rudimentary of messages could be exchanged. Still, the system proved more than adequate to convey Tolar's communique this morning.

Urthblood lowered the spyglass at last, but continued to stare eastward. "Was it a message, My Lord?" Matowick ventured.

"Yes, Captain. A message. All of two words." The badger's gaze shifted to the south slightly. "Doublegate burns."

"Burns?" the Gawtrybe captain echoed. "What could this mean?"

"Only a massive fire that far south in Mossflower would be seen from Foxguard. I think we can safely assume that Doublegate is a total loss."

"But, who is responsible for this?" Matowick could not believe that anybeast, not even Tratton, would be so audacious as to feign interest in peace talks, right on Salamandastron's doorstep, while his forces carried out such a major offensive elsewhere against his negotiating partner. "And what of the searat ship Captain Tardo was guarding?"

"If any of Captain Tardo's shrews have survived into this morning, they should be able to tell Klystra exactly what happened. When he knows, we will know. And then we will know what is to be done."

Urthblood compacted his telescope, snapped it back into place, and turned toward the stairwell. "I shall return shortly. If Klystra returns in my absence, please have him wait up here for me. There are several things I must see to now."

00000000000

Tratton's negotiator arose at dawn, went through what had become his usual morning routine aboard the _Wedge_ - including a brief consultation with the Searat King - and then climbed into the landing boat for deliverance to yet another day of tedious and drawn-out bargaining with the Badger Lord.

Korba had to admit, were his primary purpose at the moment not to stall these proceedings, things were otherwise progressing quite well. Assuming that Urthblood genuinely sought a peace settlement, the details that had been hammered out so far were not without advantage to Tratton. Not only would this accord end the war, but it would also grant the searats limited access to timber and mining resources on the mainland (under woodlander supervision, of course), a percentage of the cargo from all trader vessels plying the high seas, and recognition by Salamandastron as the legitimate ruler of the sea lanes. It was hardly the absolute power that Tratton might have desired, but far preferable to a continuation of this conflict which would at the very least cost him more ships and mainland facilities, while giving him nothing in return and further straining his ability to keep his officers and crewrats properly subjugated. Korba almost imagined that his master would have agreed to face-to-face negotiations with Urthblood by now, if Tratton were not determined to wait for word on the success of Kothar's mission.

Korba knew immediately that something was amiss when he saw Urthblood standing above the tideline on the shore waiting for him. The false viceroy had only ever been met on the beach by the badger's captains, and would always have to wait until he was escorted up into the mountain to meet with Urthblood directly. For the hulking, crimson-armored warrior to greet the searat landing boat personally represented a radical departure from the established decorum, and Korba did not believe it boded well for him or his sovereign.

Under the silver sheen of a cloudless morning, the sun still not visible over the mountains beyond Salamandastron, the landing boat's prow crunched against the sand of the shallows. Before any of the rats could disembark, however, Urthblood raised up his paw, signaling for them to remain where they were.

"Return to your ship, Viceroy," the badger rumbled, projecting his voice to be heard above the gentle surf and the cries of his gulls wheeling high overhead. "These negotiations are suspended until further notice."

"Why? What has happened?"

Urthblood ignored the question. "I may need to go away for awhile. Tell Tratton that if he does not desire all-out, unrestrained warfare to be unleashed against him, he will wait here until my return to conclude these talks, however long it takes."

"Where are you going? What calls you away from meetings of such importance?" Korba felt in his mind like he was running to keep up with this unexpected turn of events.

"If I go, it will be because I am needed elsewhere," Urthblood replied, maintaining his cryptic manner. But if his words were nebulous, his direct and commanding tone left no room for argument; Korba half-suspected that if he tried to set foot upon the wet sands, the squirrel archers arrayed behind the Badger Lord would shoot him dead in an instant. "Now turn around and go back to your vessel, and await my word there."

Korba knew it would be useless and perhaps dangerous to question Urthblood further, such was the tone of dismissal in the badger's voice; the rat knew that when he returned to the _Wedge_, he would face Tratton's wrath for what would be seen as a failure of his diplomatic and intelligence-gathering ability, but Korba preferred to choose a danger that lay in his future over one that stood before him right now.

The line of Gawtrybe parted for him as Urthblood turned and strode back up the beach toward the main gate of Salamandastron. Seeing there was nothing else for him here, Korba sighed and gave the orders for the landing boat to be turned around and rowed back out to the ironclad flagship of the searat fleet.

The trader mouse captain Ramjohn met Urthblood just inside the main entrance, where the gray glow of the new day mingled with the flickering yellow of torches and lamps. "Your head weasel said you wanted to see me, Lord?" Ramjohn asked, his voice and manner implying that he could have been happier with the choice of creature chosen to summon him.

"Yes, Captain," Urthblood said with casual calm. "I may require the use of your ship."

00000000000

An unused chamber on the east face of the mountain served as Salamandastron's newest armory.

Urthblood had ordered most of his troops to steer well clear of this room, stressing the hazards of the weapons stored within. Mattoon's squad of weasels and rats were the only creatures in the mountain to have seen these latest armaments in use, but they were sworn to secrecy, and spoke only to each other about the terrible things they'd witnessed. As for the other beasts in the badger's service, none needed to be told twice; all knew what the glass vitriol could do, and respected the potency of any new weaponry Urthblood was likely to come up with, whatever its nature might be. More than one woodlander warrior speculated that Urthblood might have cracked the secret of Tratton's stormpowder and conjured a stockpile of his own, although those same creatures wondered why none of them were being trained in its use. After all, if this was a backup measure in case the talks with the searats fell apart, what good would any new weapon do if nobeast knew how to use it?

As it happened, the creatures who would wield this dreadful new invention - if it were to be wielded at all - were already as well-trained as they could possibly be.

The Badger Lord stood within that chamber now with his seagull captain Scarbatta, regarding the clay vessels neatly arranged on the floor against each wall. Aside from its rather secluded position at the end of one corridor, Urthblood had also chosen this room as his new armory because of the wide, tall window that opened onto a sheer drop - inaccessible to ground creatures but perfect for his winged fighters.

Dozens of the large ceramic containers stood in rows, as innocent in appearance as they were lethal in purpose. Urthblood had personally seen to the making of these armaments, performing as much of the labor as his missing paw allowed. He saw no need to expose his helpers to any more risk than necessary, and his own large part in their manufacture helped keep too many beasts from seeing what they were encouraged not to see. It was remarkable what could be accomplished by a creature who never slept.

"There is a good chance, Captain," Urthblood told Scarbatta, "that these are the weapons I will choose for the coming conflict. I will send you word if that turns out to be the case."

Scarbatta looked askance at the ranks of clay containers. "Not too effective in tests. Had to chase rats down every time, take care of them seagull way."

"My stock of vitriol globes is very limited, due to a shortage of beeswax," Urthblood explained, "and I do not know whether the flaming oil globes will be effective in Mossflower. My future sense tells me that these weapons will be the ones I must use to meet this new threat, whatever it is."

"When you know for sure?"

"I must await Klystra's return. Only when his report illuminates what I already know and sense will my path be clear. If I must leave Salamandastron, it is essential that you and your gulls make a show of staying here. Your presence is the main deterrent against Tratton attacking. He will not try anything as long as he knows you can fire his ships on very short notice. If he sees me depart with a large strength of my ground troops and you gulls as well, he might be emboldened to attack in our absence. It could even be that he arranged this assault on Doublegate precisely to draw me away from the mountain. But, as long as he sees a full force of gulls here, he will not attack."

"How then we help you in Mossflower?" Scarbatta asked.

"If I decide you are needed where I am going, I will dispatch Klystra or Altidor to summon you, and they will guide you to your target. We will not give Tratton a chance to move against the mountain. Our timing will be as potent as any weapon, if we arrange things right."

Scarbatta gave a bird shrug. "You strategy master, we serve best we can. Just remember, no gulls fly at night."

00000000000

"He's ... he's _leaving_?"

"He didn't say fer sure that he was, Your Majesty. But he gave me the impression that was his intent."

Korba stood before the Searat King in Tratton's private stateroom, delivering his daily status report many hours earlier than usual. It was clear that this turn of events had caught Tratton by surprise every bit as much as it had Korba.

"Well, where is he going?"

"He would not say, Your Highness, but he made it most obvious that he did not have to. He knows."

"How could he? I don't even know the outcome of Kothar's mission yet myself!"

"He's got prophetic vision. He's got his bird spies. He has loyal followers all over the lands - even Mossflower, these days. I warned you this would be a dangerous game we were playing here, M'Lord. We should've realized we'd not be able to keep this hidden from him."

"Korba."

Tratton spoke only that single word, but the tones of implied threat he injected into those two syllables were enough to clamp Korba's jaws shut. If the tyrant perceived this to be a dangerous situation for himself, the last thing he'd want to hear was one of his underlings even coming close to implying that the Searat King was to blame for following a perilous course into jeopardy. In the vast pantheon of things one simply did not say to Tratton if one wished to remain alive, "I told you so" ranked very near the top.

"How great do you judge the danger to be?" Tratton asked his negotiator. "Should we depart at once, or wait to see whether Urthblood does in fact leave Salamandastron?"

"He was quite explicit that we remain here 'til his return," Korba answered with a slight tremble to his voice. "Otherwise, he said the war would continue ... and he strongly hinted that if that happened, he would employ greater force of arms and more devastating tactics against us than anything he's used so far."

"Hmm ... " Tratton mused to himself that he wasn't the only beast in this affair who appreciated the value of a good threat. Indeed, it was the threat Urthblood's eagle had delivered to Terramort which had convinced Tratton to accept the badger's invitation in the first place. "Of course, if we stay here and he learns who was behind the attack on his shrew fortress in south Mossflower, we'll be sitting ducks for retaliation. The _Wedge_ might survive, but the _Wavestrike_ and the _Darksky_ wouldn't stand a chance against those fire-dropping gulls."

"But, My Lord," Korba observed hesitantly, "wasn't the whole idea to be able t' say Kothar was working on his own, without your knowledge or approval?"

"That's all well and good, assuming Urthblood gives us a chance to explain ourselves before he acts." Tratton stood silently turning over his options in his mind. To stay, or to flee? "Then again, if he does run off to Mossflower and takes any large portion of his forces with him, it will leave Salamandastron lightly defended. There might never be another chance to take the mountain ... "

Korba couldn't believe what he was hearing. "My Lord, even if half of Urthblood's fighters go with him, we don't have the numbers here to overcome the defenders who'd remain! The ranks of squirrel archers alone that badger commands are vast! Half o' them would be more than enough to hold every tunnel an' window slit in the place, especially with those bolt-hurling war engines I saw down in the main entry hall! And we can't forget all them Mossflower shrews who're in there too ... allies of Redwall, they are!"

"Then taking care of them would weaken Redwall as well as Urthblood. And no, we do not have a force of rats with us here who could capture Salamandastron. But if Urthblood leaves for south Mossflower, it will take him a long time to get there and return - perhaps the better part of a season. Plenty of time to dispatch a Fleetrunner to Terramort to summon both dreadnoughts and some support ships. By summer's end I could have an assault force assembled at Salamandastron's door to rival the one I had here last spring - only this time, Urthblood would not be inside to rally his troops or coordinate his defenses!"

"Perhaps not, Majesty ... but then again, maybe those gulls don't need all that much direction t' drop their fire balls down on top of us. Urthblood's leaving won't do us much good if those feathered terrors remain, along with the weapons they used 'gainst us last time. We could lose what's left of the Imperial fleet!"

"Yes, that is a possibility as well," Tratton admitted. "It has been a season since the battle here - more than enough time for Urthblood to have replenished his reserves of those weapons. But has he? The prize of the mountain, balanced against the risk of losing my remaining ships ... that is the choice I must weigh now."

"Or we could just wait, like Urthblood told us to ... "

Tratton cast a jaundiced gaze Korba's way. "No stomach for risk, 'Viceroy?' Greatness is never achieved by the meek. The greater the glory, the greater the risk entailed in grabbing it."

"You said yourself that just being here at Urthblood's behest is a risk, and I'd think that'd be enough fer anybeast," Korba responded. "Didn't his eagle reveal to you that he knew the ingredients of the stormpowder? As bad as it would be havin' those gulls rainin' fire down on our ships, imagine how much worse it'd be to have stormpowder kegs explodin' amidships from stem to stern?" He left if hanging as a question, so that his master would not conclude that Korba was asserting any such disaster might actually lie in store for them.

"Yes, many questions face us, do they not?" Tratton lowered himself into his ornate cushioned chair, signifying the conclusion of this debriefing. "Which is why, for now, we will do nothing except wait and see what Urthblood does. His next move will determine ours. You are dismissed, Korba."

The negotiator rat spared not a moment in vacating the private cabin of the sea tyrant. Korba was relieved that their meeting had gone as well as it had. His head was still attached to his neck, and that was good enough for him.

00000000000

Urthblood climbed the stairs up to the plateau just in time to receive a double greeting: even as the first sparkling blinks of the rising sun stabbed over the sawtooth peaks to the east, Klystra came winging up from the south, returned from his intelligence-gathering flight. The badger met his aerial scout at the south crater rim.

"Doublegate attacked," the falcon reported without preamble.

"Yes, I know," Urthblood nodded. "Tolar signaled us from Foxguard shortly after you left. They could see the smoke from the tower deck, so I assume the fire must have been immense. What is the status there?"

"Main barracks collapsed and burning. Outer wall mostly gone. Inner wall burning through many spots, no way to combat flames, will all fall soon."

Matowick, Mattoon, Saybrook and Tillamook all stood gathered behind Urthblood; once word of the events at Doublegate had filtered down through the mountain, nearly every captain made his way up to the roof of the fortress to await Klystra's arrival, or further word from Foxguard, or any new development that would tell them more than the scant information they'd gleaned so far. Every eye went wide and every jaw fell agape at the sparse yet horrifying word picture Klystra painted now.

"Casualties?"

"Over half slain. Searat ship also destroyed, now lies beneath river."

"They sank it?" Even Urthblood expressed surprise at this revelation. "Precisely who was it who attacked Doublegate?"

"Shrews and rats, working together," Klystra answered. "Tardo sure rats were searats, since explosive weapons used on fort. Also sure shrews were Snoga's. Looked like Guosim, but since all Guosim here at Salamandastron ... "

"Snoga!" Matowick spat in disgust. "I was hoping he'd crawled off into Mossflower somewhere and died when we couldn't find him after the attack on Foxguard! Who would have guessed he'd resurface like this!"

"Are they still under attack?" Urthblood asked.

Klystra shook his head. "No sign of rats, must have withdrawn into forest. But did see shrews. Logboat fleet retreating upriver, away from Doublegate."

Urthblood's response was immediate. "Return to Mossflower at once, Captain. Locate those logboats again if you can, and do not let them out of your sight. I will dispatch Altidor to assist you with this task. Saugus will be at your disposal as well, if it becomes necessary to track Snoga at night. Go now."

Reacting to the urgent tone in his badger master's voice, Klystra gave a nod and launched himself from the crater rim once more, winging his way south and east to resume his surveillance of their shrew enemies.

Urthblood turned to his assembled captains. "Matowick, Mattoon, Tillamook, you will have charge of Salamandastron in my absence along with Captain Abellon. Saybrook, you and your otters will accompany me to Mossflower. We leave before the noontide. This aggression cannot go unanswered. It is time to take care of the Snoga problem once and for all."


End file.
